Golden Narnia
by Alara
Summary: Set in the Golden Age, when Peter was High King with Susan, Edmund, and Lucy as King and Queens under him. What were those years like? How did they adjust to life not only in a strange new world, but as rulers, too? The adventures Lewis didn't tell us about! Loosely connected with "Grey England." Will be a more trad. chap-by-chap story (as opposed to Grey England's short stories).
1. Golden Narnia: A New Life

Hello, all! This is one of a few other projects I've been working on. (It's still being written, but I've got a good start on it.) Note that I skip a chunk of years at points, which I might write one- or two-offs to fill, if there is any interest in them.

Requests and REVIEWS, therefore, are both encouraged and welcome!

* * *

Golden Narnia: New Beginnings

In the days after the coronation, there was much cheerful confusion at Cair Paravel. The four child-monarchs had little notion of what was really expected of them. The Talking Animals had no idea what to do with four rulers who'd never ruled anything, not even themselves. When the Pevensies had, for the second day in a row, found themselves sitting staring bewildered at one another in Peter's sitting room, it was Lucy, wriggling and impatient, who broke them out of their haze.

"Well, we can't just sit here all the time," Lucy said. "I'm quite sure Aslan didn't crown us to just do _that_."

"No," Peter agreed, somewhat morosely, "but what do you suggest, Lu? No one wants to tell us what to do. We're the kings and queens! But I have no idea where to even start."

"Perhaps they're only waiting to be asked," Lucy suggested. "How about we start with General Orieus? He seems to know what's going on."

"That's a good idea, Lu," Edmund said, pulling himself out of his slouch. "Anyone know where we can find him?"

"Let's do as Lu said, and just ask," Susan smiled, and stood, pulling Lucy up with her. The boys rose, and, happy to have struck on something they could do, they all headed toward the doorway.

It seemed Lucy's thought was correct. The Faun whom they encountered was all too happy to lead them through the Cair's many hallways and levels until they emerged onto the training ground adjacent to the armory.

"Oh, I am _never_ going to remember all these hallways," Susan said fretfully.

"Don't worry about that right now, Su," Edmund replied. "I'm sure it'll just take some getting used to. Now, where's General Orieus?"

"Were Your Majesties looking for me?" Came a deep voice behind them, and they all turned to see the centaur emerging from a doorway. He bowed. "Here I am. How may I be of service?"

They all exchanged a look, and then Peter sheepishly said, "We're trying to figure out what, exactly, it is we're supposed to be doing, you see. There wasn't a copy of Kingship for Beginners in the library."

The centaur's stern face smiled a little at that. "I suppose your seneschal hasn't caught up with you, yet?"

The four shook their heads. "Not that we've noticed." Edmund volunteered. "Er. What's a seneschal?"

"An organizer. He is arranging for tutors for Your Majesties, and there are several worthy individuals willing to stand as your advisors while you are learning. Although," he added, "they are new to their roles, as well. While you've never ruled before, most Narnians have never been ruled before; only tyrannized and terrified."

"I suppose we'll all be learning together for a while, then," Susan said wryly, and Orieus nodded.

"It is as you say, Queen Susan. But I have every hope that with the prophecy fulfilled in you four, that peace and happiness will come to all Narnia soon enough."

"And speaking of peace," Peter said, frowning, "I've been thinking it over, and there have got to be other places around here that have noticed all of the ice melting, and are wondering what is going on. And I'm wondering if they're all, well, friendly?"

"It is difficult to say," Orieus replied. "Narnia has been so isolated for so long, it is possible there are few friends to Narnia left. Or it is possible there are many enemies of the White Witch who would welcome Narnia's emancipators as allies. But it is well for you to be thinking in this way, High King. For Narnia, though blessed by Aslan himself, is a small land, and there are great empires whose hunger for small lands never ceases.

"As the general of your army," he said, turning toward the practice yard, "I suggest we continue your arms training, which will have to be worked into your daily schedule. But as you say you have nothing in your itinerary at the moment…" he gestured expansively toward the armory door. "You, Kings, go fit yourself out with practice arms and armor, and you Queens, hie you to the archery yard with bows."

"Oh, can't we learn sword-work, too?" Lucy asked.

Orieus tilted his head to look down at the 8 year old, whose head barely came up to his waist. His face did not betray the hint of a smile as he answered. "One day, perhaps," he said gravely. "When the sword does not weigh more than you."

Lucy rolled her eyes a bit, but acknowledged the point, and went after Susan toward the archery butts.

The general turned as Peter and Edmund emerged from the armory, looking a bit overmatched by their helms, shields, swords, and all. They were so young. But he'd trained boys as young as these before, and if nothing else, he could place his trust and faith in Aslan, who had chosen these four children to save them all. _More than chosen,_ he reminded himself: they had been pulled straight from another world for Aslan's purpose!

And Orieus would do his part to make them ready to bear the burden of ruling.

"All right, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane, and Sir Edmund of the Table… start running the perimeter of the training yard!"

Obligingly, Peter and Edmund started to run. When they'd passed Orieus for the fifth time, Peter called, "Er, General? Is there a certain number of laps you want us to do?"

"I'll tell you when to stop. Keep going."

Twenty minutes later, he called them to a halt, gesturing for them to get water. "Drink slowly," he cautioned them. They nodded, too breathless to reply in speech, though Peter listened intently as Orieus delivered a quiet lecture on the importance of physical wellness in a King of Narnia. Edmund was a bit more focused on his water, but the Centaur caught the gleam of understanding in the younger boy's eyes as Orieus listed the followers of the White Witch who surely were itching to stir up trouble: the lesser Witches, and Hags, and Grims, and the like. When he judged them cooled down enough, he bade them each take their weighted practice swords and follow him in drills… and their first lessons commenced.

* * *

Two hours later they reconvened in Peter's sitting room, all of them looking tired. The boys had taken the simple expedient of plunging into the sea momentarily to remove the dust and sweat from themselves, while Susan had insisted she and Lucy take the more genteel route of washing themselves out of a basin. "Besides," she pointed out. "The sea is bound to be freezing right now, what with all that ice just having been melted into it."

"Ooh, I hadn't thought of that," Lucy admitted, shivering.

And now they were staring at one another, seeing joy and purpose in one another's faces, not the dull and weary uncertainty that had been there before.

"And did you hear, we're going to have tutors?" Edmund asked excitedly, then checked himself. "Gosh, I can't believe I'm so excited about lessons."

"I have a feeling they'll be far better lessons than those in that Other Place," Lucy said.

Peter, who was stretched out along one of the couches, turned his head toward her. "I think you're right. But I do hope I get used to running with all of that armor on. I _hurt_."

"I hope I get used to pulling the bow back for so many hours," Susan replied. "I feel like I was pushing rocks, not pulling some wood and gut!"

"I'm rather hoping I'll get some calluses on my hands quickly," Edmund said. "That, or I'll get to find out how painful training with blisters is."

"Blisters?" Lucy said. "Do you want me to get my cordial?"

"No," Edmund said. "They don't hurt, and you don't want to waste even a drop of cordial on something so silly and commonplace."

"Mind you keep them clean, and don't pick at them," Susan said, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mu—" he started to say, and stopped, looking struck. "Oh. Oh. That's right. Mum …and Dad. We—we're not very likely to see them again, I suppose."

They all quieted.

"No, I guess not." Peter said, after a little while. "But it's not like they've died. It's—it's more like we're at a boarding school very far away."

"Or visiting a foreign country," Susan said. There was another pause. "Well, we have got an awful lot to learn."

"I think if we just stick together, we'll be all right. After all, Aslan did crown all of us, so he must want us to work together, right?" Lucy offered.

"Right." Edmund said, smiling at her. "And that's just what we'll do."

* * *

Chapter 2 is also up. (I told you I'd been writing!) R&R!


	2. Learning

GN 2: Learning

The four young monarchs learned, and worked, and played together. At first, they were all in the same lessons, which were mostly held in a pleasant long narrow room with long table in its center, a fireplace at one end, and a whole wall of windows. The Pevensies arranged themselves along the table's length, closer or further apart as their studies demanded.

While they all could read and write, they could only read and write in English (well, the older two had theoretically learned some French, Latin, and Greek, but to call them even basically fluent in any of these was stretching it). Fortunately English was close enough to standard Narnian that even Lucy had little trouble adjusting her understanding to be able to read most of the books and poems and songs that the Narnians had hid and kept safe during the White Witch's reign.

But there were other dialects and tongues to be learned, as well: the tongue of the Calormene equivalent of their court, and the oddly patterned language used in Telmar, and the oozing, silky language spoken by the inhabitants of the Lone Islands. Mostly they muddled through, though Susan, who hadn't been a notable scholar in England, found herself able to apprehend more of these languages than her siblings; so the Language tutor gave her extra lessons to study. That was the first point of separate lessons for any of them.

When they started digging into Narnian history, they found it rather slow going until Lucy discovered a book in the library that was a history book but told it like it was stories, and they read it aloud in the evenings to one another. Their tutor was delighted with their progress. He was a Faun, and some sort of cousin to dear Mr Tumnus. Evidently they kept in touch with one another, too, for the next time Lucy had tea with Mr Tumnus, he fairly well filled her arms with other wonderful books full of true stories when he learned the secret to their success.

They also had to learn the art of heraldry, so they could interpret the arms and sigils of their Court's noble families and neighboring lands. Edmund found himself noticing the connections amongst them, and grew fascinated with it. So much so, that the wise Centaur who was teaching them all of this started teaching Edmund some of the subtler arts of statecraft, the way of seeming to promise without actually promising anything, and the ways of finding out what one's enemies wished to be kept hidden, and that sort of thing. And that was another point of separate lessons for one of them.

Their Dancing master, a human named Mr. Lefrons, was delighted that there were two boys and two girls, so he didn't often have to go hunting down partners for them. He did, sometimes, so they would learn how to dance with people who were much taller or shorter or larger or older than they were, but mostly they learned and made mistakes and stepped on one another's feet. And with dancing came music, of course. All of them could carry a tune and whistle, but both Lucy and Edmund got true enjoyment out of singing and playing, and so they had some extra lessons for that, too. Another point of separation.

Generally, they got on very well with all of their tutors, but of course nothing is perfect. Their Composition tutor seemed to have taken a dislike to her assignment, and to Lucy particularly.

They were all familiar with how to use a fountain pen, of course, but writing with quills seemed to baffle them, and indeed for a time their writing was so uniformly atrocious that the Composition tutor thought they'd all exaggerated their ability to write at all. This was resolved, fortunately, before she outright accused them of lying to her.

"No, Queen Lucy, the stem of the small _D_ must connect to the bowl of the letter, or it will be mis-read as the letters _C_ and _L_. Are you quite _certain_ you know all of your letters?" Miss Pemele's voice was honeyed.

Lucy slanted a frustrated look at the Dryad from under the hair she'd dragged in front of her face the last time she'd run her hands through it in frustration. "Yes, I'm quite sure. I've known them since I was one and a half. I just can't get the hang of using a feather to write with! The ink skips, and then it blots, and I can't seem to do straight lines properly."

Miss Pemele leaned back against one of the chairs, an unmistakably skeptical look on her face.

Lucy sat back in her chair, frustration on hers. She let her gaze rove around the room for a moment, thinking. Then she suddenly leapt up and headed toward the large fireplace that warmed their lesson room.

She crouched near to the blazing hearth, near enough that Susan said in alarm: "Lucy, be careful, you'll burn yourself!"

Lucy gave her sister the look that comment deserved, and turned back to the fireplace.

"Your Majesty, there is no need for dramatics—" Miss Pemele began, but Lucy waved her off.

"I'm going to prove to you that I know my letters," Lucy said, and darted her fingertips toward the burnt-down bits of wood that had tumbled in a heap. She drew her hand back, pulling out several charred sticks.

Glad of the excuse to stop struggling with their own quills, the other three stopped their work, and watched her curiously.

It wasn't until Lucy had carried her burnt sticks back to her chair, seated herself, picked one of them up, and started to write with it, that they understood.

"Ah! A pencil!" Edmund exclaimed. "Good thinking, Lu!"

"It's not very exact," Lucy admitted, making a few practice strokes. "The lines are rather thick. And crumbly." She hurriedly wrote down the alphabet, the numerals, and the sentence, I _am Queen Lucy of Narnia, and I can write when I have a tool I can use._ "But I think it makes my point." She said, staring straight at Miss Pemele determinedly, as she handed the Dryad the sheet of paper. The Dryad's mouth flattened a little as she looked over the page, but Lucy only raised an eyebrow.

Edmund put his hand on her shoulder, and looked up at the Dryad, too. "We all know our letters and numbers and things."

"What we don't know," Peter put in, "is—oh—how to compose essays for our History tutor, but more importantly, we don't know how to compose a letter of state, or, I don't know—"

"Pacts and treaties," Susan said.

"Proclamations," Lucy suggested.

"Laws." Was Edmund's contribution.

"Things we are _going_ to need to know how to draft, sooner rather than later." Peter summed up. "Your worrying about our handling of quill pens is not helping us toward that goal."

"We'll need to know how to understand those things too," Edmund said, and they looked at him. He shrugged. "Well, the first time someone sends us a trade agreement, or something, are any of you going to know what traps to look for? I certainly don't."

"Good point, Ed," Susan murmured.

"Well," Miss Pemele said stiltedly. "I shall certainly have to discuss this with your other instructors. But I believe you have done enough today," and Lucy wasn't sure if she was being given a _look_ or not. But they were dismissed early from that lesson, so they went back to Peter's sitting room, which was becoming their de facto meeting place.

The next day, at the time for Composition, a round-bellied, long-bearded Dwarf with twinkling eyes was waiting for them. There was something in his face that made one want to like him, and the Pevensies all did. "Greetings to Your Majesties, all," he said, executing a bow. "I have been asked to take over Miss Pemele's instruction period, to better meet your educational needs. My name is Barnabas, and I shall be teaching you Politics."

They all looked at him in surprise; when lessons had initially been talked of, their advisors had said Politics would not be taught for some time. Barnabas smiled at their surprise. "Apparently your arguments—as a group—were quite effective, which bodes well for your success in learning what I have to teach you. Now, to begin…"

And that was the first time they had a taste of the changes they could effect by standing up for one another.

* * *

There were other lessons added as they mastered the ones they had begun—logic and mathematics, and navigating and cookery, and plain sewing and embroidery (Susan loved this; Lucy tolerated it; the boys finished their minimal projects, said they had a fine appreciation for the art, but declined to continue).

Lucy hung about the Healers' hall until they taught her some of their arts, and when Orieus heard of this, he sent Peter and Edmund to learn basic aid, as well. Susan cajoled the bakers into teaching her how they crafted their breads and pastries, and the boys even learned how to put together a decent stew.

Each day began with weapons' practice in the yards, always running and fighting. Sometimes, Orieus would add horseback riding and woodscraft. They learned to hunt, both as a High Court pastime as well as at need.

The boys began to learn battle tactics and how to plan a war and prepare for a siege, and how to direct a navy, and those such things. Susan declared she was well out of it, and worked on her embroidery, but Lucy, who still longed to learn sword craft, hung about.

Neither Orieus nor the boys objected to her being there, as she made herself useful by learning to clean and perform basic repairs to worn armor, sewing in new patches of leather to replace the old, or fixing a new ring into a broken suit of mail.

They supposed she was just avoiding doing needlework with Susan, until one day, Orieus had given the boys a tactical puzzle to work over, and both Peter and Edmund seemed stumped. All three stood along one side of the table on which they laid out the different scenarios. Edmund and Peter stared at it, little counters representing military groups and personnel strewn across its surface, for what seemed like hours.

"What if we—" Peter reached for one of the counters and started to move it, then dropped his hand. "No, that won't work, because then the enemy would only come around and take the left flank, right?" He glanced up to his left for Orieus' nod. "Hmm."

Edmund was standing on Peter's right. "Well, we have this cavalry group in reserve. How long for them to arrive at this point in this scenario?"

Two days, Orieus told him. "All right. If they get here within two days, the enemy will have got to… here." He moved a piece, and examined the board, then sighed. "No. The extra cavalry won't work, either. It's still a stalemate." He tapped his chin, thinking.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't consciously notice when someone pressed between him and Peter, nudging him aside.

He noticed, though, when a small hand reached out, plucked a pair of scouts from the reserve box, and placed them on the board. "If this scout is an Eagle, and this other scout is a Fox, you can get a lot of useful information very quickly. Like the fact that the enemy does not have a secure supply line to his men, and you could very easily disrupt it by sending a team of archers to pick off…" she stood on tiptoe to move another piece near the middle of the table, "this little group. Then the enemy won't have supplies and will have to talk. Or starve, I guess." Lucy shrugged.

As one, Peter and Edmund turned to stare at the top of her head, and Orieus' eyebrows shot up as he, too, eyed the girl.

"Indeed, little Queen, that is one way to break the stalemate," he said. "And you considered the value of the different kinds of citizens Narnia has. Well done. Your royal brothers seem to keep forgetting that."

"I think I probably talk to more of the animals than they do," Lucy said thoughtfully. "So I'm a little more familiar with what they can and can't do."

"Nevertheless." Orieus said, and rearranged several of the pieces. "Now, Queen Lucy, what would your next step be if this were the situation?" He watched her carefully as she pondered a response, looking at the table.

Both Peter and Edmund went to speak, but he raised a hand. "I'm interested in what your royal sister has to say."

"Well," she said slowly, "it seems obvious you should move that infantry over there," she pointed, and both of her brothers nodded agreement.

Their faces fell, though, as she continued. "But you can't, because that little gorge there will make them go around, and it would take too long to get them into position. But if you move this group of Great Cats over here, then…" she described the more favorable outcome, and looked up at Orieus' towering height. "Right?"

A rarely-seen grin broke across the Centaur's dark face, and he bowed. "Indeed, little Queen. I believe I shall add Tactics to your lesson roster, if that is agreeable to you."

Her smile was sunny. "It is!" She narrowed her eyes. "This _does_ mean I get to learn sword-work, right?"

Orieus couldn't keep himself from laughing, a broad smile creasing his usually stoic face.

"Oh, Su's going to love this," Edmund chuckled. "Our little sister the tactician."

"It's just as well," Peter sighed. "Neither you nor I seem to see all the possibilities quite yet, though I'm sure we'll learn. It's good to know there's someone in the family with a knack for it, at least."

And they all continued learning, and growing and starting to figure out who they were.

* * *

Peter started to develop into a really outstanding swordsman. Susan was the one of their number who had a deft touch with international relations. Edmund, for his part, started to really delve into the laws of Narnia, and began to have some laws changed or abolished for the sake of justice and fairness. Lucy kept most in touch with their varied subjects, and every few days would arrange to visit one or another of them, and come back brimming with tales of another facet of their strange and wondrous kingdom.

And eventually Lucy did get her wish. When Orieus thought she was strong enough, he began to teach her weapons-craft. She began to learn to handle a short sword, and was decent enough, but Orieus wanted her to learn close quarters combat most of all.

"If I am not, or a guard is not nearby to keep you safe, Queen," he told her, "I had much rather you had the means to save yourself. If you can defend yourself with a dagger—or your hands alone—you shall be far safer than if we had a phalanx of guards around you at all hours of the day and night."

So she learned hand to hand fighting with her brothers, and dagger work, and escape tactics. (It took Peter and Edmund quite some time to get over their squeamishness about hitting their sister; they only managed it at first when she had scored some serious hits on them, and Orieus chided them for not taking their sister's safety as seriously as she did.)

It wasn't all sitting around the Cair, learning to rule though. Within their first year, Peter had to go west to roust out Werewolves in the forest, and before he had even returned, there came mention that a Hag had been seen in the mountains, and Edmund went to deal with her. Both brothers came back rather sick and sad from the killing that had been necessary, and proud of their work, and most of all happy to see their sisters at the Cair.

And Susan soon after visited Beaversdam for a friendly look-in on Mr and Mrs Beaver, and found herself swept up for some time in an investigation of the murder of an Owl who'd lived for years in those parts. She had been found a ways back in a narrow cave, where no Owl would willingly go. But Susan was able to determine the culprit in the end, and brought him back to the Cair for the justice that was due to him.

It seemed no sooner had all of this wrapped up than Lucy, who had gone to a nearby glade to learn some dances from the Dryads there, discovered the murderous ghost of a Naiad who had been luring travelers to their doom, and she was occupied for a good while in figuring out how one laid a water-spirit's ghost to rest. But she did in the end, earning herself the favor and trust of the nearby river god, and for a while it seemed things could be quiet at the Cair.

Then the requests for audiences started rolling in. Would the Four hear a merchant's grievance, would the Four attend a banquet, would the Four make a visit of state to the Lone Islanders, on and on.

They consulted with their advisors, accepted some invitations, gently turned down others, and instituted a weekly Court session so their subjects could bring matters to their attention.

Time went on, and they all kept learning and growing, until it occurred to them, one by one, that they were no longer looking to their advisors for approval of their actions, but rather for advice on them; in short, that they were actually ruling Narnia. And as each of them came to this realization, a sort of pride and terror mixed fell over each, pride in having grown into their positions, terror at the fates held in their hands.

They were all very grateful for their retreat into Peter's sitting room, where they could be less Kings and Queens and more brothers and sisters, and they considered anew Aslan's deep wisdom in placing all four of them on the thrones together.

* * *

OK. I do realize Lucy has a bit of Legolas-effect going on. She's just not really old enough for her flaws to be really visible (she's, like, 9 or so, and lives in a land where Horses can talk. C'mon.) But the flaws are there, I promise : )


	3. Introducing Avarro

GN 3: Introducing Avarro

* * *

One day, when they'd been in Narnia for about six years, Peter was sifting through his correspondence, when he came across a letter that made him stop and stroke the short beard he'd begun to cultivate.

Edmund asked, "What's toward, brother?"

"I've rather an interesting request from the King of Telmar," Peter said.

"Telmar? What connection have we with Telmar?" Lucy asked, looking up from her writing.

"Aside from a minor trading agreement, nought I can think of. Their lands are beyond the Western Wastes," Susan answered, after a moment. "What's in the letter?"

"King Henrick says he has a young man in his Court, the—let's see. The queen's brother's orphaned nephew, who is being raised by her brother, Joncas. Henrick would like to send the boy to us for a time 'to grant him greater exposure in the world.' " He looked up. "Reading between the lines, the boy is a little wild and mayhap has got himself into some sort of trouble at the Telmarine Court, and the king fain would have him out of the limelight for a time until whatever brangle he's made can be cleaned up."

Edmund frowned. "He doesn't sound like a very safe person to be around. Why send him here?"

"Henrick writes—in mostly plain words, too—that he thinks most of the trouble—well, he says 'insularity'—comes from the boy spending too much time with Joncas' men, who are older than he. He thinks Avarro is, well, lonely, and would benefit from exposure to other gentlepersons his own age. It seems there are few young people in the Telmarine Court, aside from babes in arms."

" 'Spending time with his uncle's men?' How old is he?" Susan asked.

Peter scanned the letter. "I would suppose hast around fourteen or fifteen years to him."

"Well, a child he's not," Susan said. "It's not like we'd have to have nursemaids, or any such similar needs."

"No," Peter agreed. "They'd send him with his own tutor and manservant. I think Henrick honestly is just looking to get the boy out of Telmar, and into more agreeable, gentle company."

"I don't see any reason not to offer him hospitality," Lucy said. "Perhaps it will allow us to open new ties with Telmar, should we find ourselves in need of them."

"Forging ties with potential allies is always a good idea, sister," Edmund nodded. "Perhaps we can lean on them to help with the robbers who always seem to be lurking in the forests up there."

"How long would he be staying?" Susan asked.

"King Henrick requests… whew, six months at least." Peter whistled. "Egad. The boy must have got himself into quite a scrape."

"Or offended someone powerful," Susan said.

"He's related—if only by marriage—to the Telmarine royal family," Lucy pointed out. "He should have had plenty of protection, no matter what."

"Someone very powerful, then. A vizier, or something."

Peter looked around. "Well, I think the boy would largely be spending time with us, if shouldst allow him to come; we still don't have very many young Humans in our Court. What say you, my royal brother and sisters?"

Susan said, "I am moved to pity him, a boy among adults. No time to simply enjoy anything, and no one to enjoy it with; and without his parents besides. I say allow him to come."

"Everyone needs a friend," Lucy volunteered. "And if the people he has around him are not able to be good friends, perhaps we can. I say he may come, too."

But Edmund had a dark look on his face. "Normally, my heart, too, would be moved with pity, brother, and I know all too well what falling in with the wrong sort can do for someone's behavior. Yet I fain would know with more precision exactly why this boy needs to be sent so far from his home and everyone he knows, before we find ourselves with a viper in our midst. I say no."

Peter gave him a commiserating look. "And it is precisely because of thy conditions, brother, that I say yes: For I saw how ill comrades drove even you, whom I love, to ill behavior, and I saw how quickly thou did mend when given the opportunity. So I say yea, though I shall request of King Henrick more particulars about the issue that prompts the request ere I let the boy come here."

"Well it's three to one," Edmund said. "So I suppose this… Avarro, is it? Avarro shall become part of our Court for some time. Mayhap we can be of help to him, but I do say to you all: feelings of foreboding stirreth in me."

"Perhaps it is the newness of the request," Susan suggested. "After all, we have had no long-term visitors to the Cair before."

Edmund smiled at her. "You may be right, sister; I do tend to be the more cautious in a new circumstance."

"And it's a wariness that has served us well in the past," Peter said warmly. "I thank you for sharing your concerns. And now to write King Henrick, request that further information, and if you ladies will of your kindness speak with the housekeepers about arranging rooms for a long-term guest, I would thank thee."

That seemed to be that, and they dispersed to their various next tasks.

They received a reply to their inquiry within a couple of weeks. Young Avarro had been caught gambling, and drinking to excess with a few of the less savoury of his uncle's men, and had seemed unrepentant when dressed down for his behavior. "If they, sworn men-at-arms of my uncle's, can do it, why can't I?" was apparently his plaint.

Well, he seemed unlikely to bring harm to anyone here. The people at Cair Paravel would do their best to keep him from excesses, and perhaps they could introduce him to more healthy pastimes. Peter wrote King Henrick that they'd look forward to welcoming Avarro as a guest within the next several weeks.

They discussed it, and decided the best way to welcome him was to simply be as friendly and as informal as they could reasonably manage, within the bounds of decorum. So when the young man came riding up to the gates of Cair Paravel, with just a couple of servants in tow, he found himself ushered not into the Great Hall, but rather a simpler throne room off to the side that was still beautifully appointed, but not half so intimidating.

The Four awaited him, along with one or two of their advisors, and Barnabas, who by this time was in charge of any lessons they might need at this point. They wore some of their more simply decorated crowns, instead of the weighty and imposing crowns they wore for very formal occasions. They greeted Avarro warmly when he came in.

The young man in question had nondescript sandy brown hair, and a somewhat surly expression on his face. Trailing behind him were a tall, thin man with a pinched expression, and a stoop-shouldered man who looked as though he were expecting awful things to happen at any moment.

"Hello! Did you have a good trip?" Lucy said.

The young man paused halfway through his deep bow, obviously disconcerted, and Lucy let out a musical laugh, and stepped forward to raise him out of his bow. "When we can allow it, we prefer to not be terribly formal here at the Cair," she explained. "You must be Avarro. I'm Queen Lucy, this is my brother King Edmund, my sister Queen Susan, and the tall one over there is High King Peter." Each of the monarchs nodded, smiling, as they were introduced, which gave Avarro a moment to recover.

"My thanks for a warm welcome," he stammered. "This is my chief tutor, Mr Pallson." The tall man stepped forward, a thin smile flickering across his face. He bowed, but did not speak.

There was a slight pause, and Susan asked, "And who is your other traveling companion?"

Avarro looked taken aback. "That is only my manservant."

Lucy looked at the stoop shouldered man, smiling. "And your name is…?"

The man darted a wary look at Avarro before replying. "This lowly one's name is Sandon, Your Majesty."

"Welcome, as well, Sandon. I do hope you all will enjoy your stay here."

"Mr Pallson," Peter said. The thin man bowed. "Here we have with Us our chief tutor, Barnabas. Perhaps you would like to confer with him on Lord Avarro's educational needs? We certainly have no objection to his joining us at some of our lessons."

What almost looked like a real smile came over Mr Pallson's face. "Sharing the burden of educating my charge Avarro sounds most welcome, Your Majesty," he said. Lucy thought his voice matched his face: tall and thin. "I look forward to speaking with him."

"And I'm certain you are all tired after your travels, so Shilsa here will be happy to show you to the rooms we have prepared for you," Susan said, waving forward a Dryad. "Do let her know if there is anything we can do to see to your comfort."

Avarro nodded, and he and his servants followed the Dryad out of the room. The Pevensies looked at one another. "I think that went all right," Susan said. "You didn't have anything to say to him, Edmund?"

The dark haired king shook his head. "There's something about him I just don't like." He folded his arms.

"We've barely met him!" Lucy exclaimed. "I think he's probably pretty nice."

"You've barely met him," Edmund returned dryly. "How can you tell?"

" _Peace_ ," Peter said. "Ed, your sense of people has been tempered in a difficult fire. But," he nodded to his sister, "Aslan knows, Lucy has brought the goodness out in difficult people before. Avarro is here now; let's give him a chance." They all murmured agreement and began to disperse.

Peter caught Edmund back. "Ed…"

"Yes?"

"Feel free to keep an eye on Avarro anyway. If you feel uneasy, there's usually a reason."

Ed smiled a little at that. "I was planning on doing so."

"I know. But this way you have official permission to do it."

"Official permission? May I remind you I'm a king?"

"But you're not a _High_ King…" the brothers continued bickering, in a friendly manner, as they went on to their next duties.

Sandon, lurking in the hall, nodded to himself and hurried back to the set of rooms that Avarro had been assigned. He might not like his master, but he knew his duty. Avarro would want to hear about the Kings' interest.

* * *

"He did? How dare he!" Avarro's temper flared. First he was… was exiled to this foreign country, with its bizarre Talking Animals and Talking Trees and probably Talking Rocks too. Now he was insulted by one of its Kings? "King Edmund can't be more than, what, a year older than I? Two?"

Sandon groveled. "The King Edmund has sixteen years to your fifteen, milord." While Avarro wasn't a lord—wasn't even noble except by marriage connections—Sandon had found that copious use of the honorific stoked his young master's ego and soothed his volatile temper.

"And he has the audacity to judge me, simply because (unlike him) I choose to not live like a monk? Bah." Avarro glared out of the window for a moment. "So it's no use trying to get him on my side. King Peter and Queen Susan are obviously too busy ruling to give me much thought one way or the other… But…" he turned, and the smile on his face made Sandon fear for whatever fiendish thought had made its way into his head.

"How old is the Queen Lucy?"

"She has fourteen years to your fifteen." Sandon hoped Avarro wasn't thinking of doing anything bad to Queen Lucy. He'd liked her. He couldn't remember the last time someone asked him his name. And he rather thought she'd remember it, too. No, he didn't want anything to happen to these happy Kings and Queens, so unlike the dour members of the Telmarine Court.

Perhaps he would have to keep an eye on Avarro, as well.

* * *

Avarro's first full day in the Cair didn't start off too well. A chirrupy Squirrel came bustling in before dawn—he was sure it was before dawn—to let him know arms practice was starting shortly, and if he wanted to join with Their Majesties and some of the guards and members of the Court, he was more than welcome.

He didn't much care if he was welcome or not. He'd far rather be sleeping. But he was one of those sorts of people who, once he was awake for the day, found it very difficult to get back to sleep. So he dragged himself out of bed, kicked Sandon awake, had the servant dress him, and leisurely slouched down the broad marble hallways and down two of the odd staircases, until he figured out where breakfast was being served. Certainly he wasn't going to go _exercise_ before he ate!

The strange configuration of the hallways had puzzled him even as he was entering Cair Paravel yesterday. From afar, he had been able to tell it was a different sort of place, reflecting light like a beacon on the edge of the sea. Even from leagues away, and on an overcast day, the castle had shone like a star floating between the rich earth and the deep sea.

Avarro had disliked it intensely, being far more used to the tall straight walls of dark grey stone and iron-toothed portcullises of the Telmarine castle. Then they'd ridden past the high proud white walls of Cair Paravel, and the place just kept getting stranger. He'd been led straight past a securely closed set of enormous gold-and-enamelled doors, no doubt leading into the Great Hall, and down one of these broad clear corridors with its vaulting roof, until they came to a plainer set of silver-chased wooden doors.

All normal enough until it occurred to him to wonder why the ceilings were quite so high? And there had been a set of stairs down to the wooden doors, but the stairs were very broad and flat. It took two paces at least to get to the next step down. That was another curious thing he couldn't explain. And then the little Queen, Lucy, had not only asked his servant's name, she'd spoken to the servant directly. That was just… baffling.

But as he wandered the corridors this morning, he found a few of his questions answered. He'd had quite a start when the overgrown Squirrel had bustled in and started talking, but then he remembered that some of the animals here could talk. Then, while he was wandering through Cair Paravel in search of breakfast, he'd been quite surprised by a cheerful "Hullo, hullo, neighbor!"

The voice had come from _above_ him, and for a moment he'd thought of ghosts and haunts, until he saw a Lark winging its way along the ceiling. Ah. That explained the ridiculous height of the corridors. Then he'd glanced out a window at the training yard and had seen a bizarre being that comprised a horse's body with a man's head and torso. A… what was it called, a centaur.

And the centaur was overseeing weapons-training, directing a handful of youths to work at the archery butts, and guiding a couple of youngsters into mock-battles with staves, and shouting at several finely-dressed people who were apparently running some sort of distance. The creature did all this while keeping up commentary on two swordsmen who were working through patterns. One of these two must be King Edmund, with his fair skin and dark, dark hair; the other was a nondescript slim youth with skin nearly as pale as Edmund's, but auburnish hair peeking out from a cap. Avarro watched them a little, finally picking out King Peter's golden head amongst the runners; he was apparently conferring with some Lord of his Court as he ran.

He snorted to himself as he turned away. So King Peter was one of _those_ sorts, then, never taking time to just enjoy anything or taking a moment of pure pleasure for himself. Priggish, he had no doubt, and he smirked to himself as he strode down the corridors. _I'm beginning to figure these people out,_ he thought. _They're not so different from the Telmarine nobles after all. And once I figure them out…_

It wasn't until he was halfway down one of those broad, flattish staircases that the reason for their configuration hit him: of course! If there were advisors or courtiers or what-have-you who had horse's feet, they wouldn't easily be able to manage normal, human-shaped stairs. He snorted in derision. If he were in charge here, why, those Other types would just have to learn to adapt. The sheer expense of changing the design of staircases around staggered him. Not to mention all the wasted space with the high ceilings and shallow stairs. Why, you could probably fit a whole nother level in this palace, if the ceilings were a normal, human height. Two, maybe.

He stepped on the thought that reminded him, high ceilings or no, Cair Paravel had at least five or six levels above the ground-level floor; and who knew how many levels below. It was certainly taller than King Henrick's stout three-story edifice.

He found his sour thoughts distracted when he entered the controlled chaos that was the general dining hall of Cair Paravel. He looked around, a little at a loss, until a short… erm, person, who had a goat's back legs but upper body of a man twenty years older than Avarro, intercepted him.

"Good morning," the goat-man said. He was wearing an extremely fine velvet tunic. "You must be Avarro. I'm Mr. Tumnus." He nodded slightly in greeting.

"Ehm. G'morning," he mumbled.

"I'm on Their Majesties' advisory council, though generally I spend my days serving as the Queens' majordomo," Mr Tumnus continued by way of introduction. "Would you like some breakfast, lad?"

The 'lad' shook him out of his bemusement. "That's why I'm here," he said coldly, but Mr Tumnus appeared to not notice his tone.

"I'm a Faun, if you were wondering," he said conversationally. He led Avarro around the long lines of tables set up in the center of the room until they came to another set of tables set near one of the walls. Servants behind this set of tables scurried to and fro, replenishing dishes as they were consumed or got cold, and checking on the needs of those dining.

As they got plates and started filling them, Mr Tumnus continued, waving at all of the people moving about, "Those eating right now comprise most of Cair Paravel's daytime staff. A great many live here at the Cair, though some have houses nearby. Most of the Beavers and Moles and Rabbits and things are part of the gardening and groundskeeping staff, and of course there are Dryads and Naiads who work with them. Mrs Beaver, there, is head of the palace seamstresses, though she prefers to spend most of her time in Beaversdam, and only comes in now for major projects."

Their plates filled, Tumnus led them to two empty seats, nodding at other denizens as they passed them. "A lot of the big Cats—Cheetahs, Lions, Panthers, and the like—are part of the Palace Guard. Some Wolves, too, and one or two Bears. Plenty of Humans, too, don't worry," Mr Tumnus laughed at his glazed expression. "It can take quite a lot of getting used to. And then there are Birds who serve as lookouts, or pages, or messengers, which the Mice are very helpful for, too. But if you should get lost, or turned around, just look for anyone in Palace Livery—it's green with a red Lion on it, with gold piping and blue accents."

His mouth full of the rather excellent food, Avarro nodded. At least that last was useful. He didn't quite know what to make of all the rest of the information. Fortunately, Mr Tumnus, chattering away, didn't seem to need any response.

After they had finished eating, and Mr Tumnus had showed him where to put his empty dishes, the Faun led him back upstairs.

Avarro thought they were on the level below the one his rooms were on. He was going to have to start memorizing his way around here. All right: on the ground floor was where the breakfast room was; then the next level above it was where ever the Faun was taking him right now; the next level above that was where his and other guest rooms were.

He didn't know where the Royal Quarters were; were they above his rooms? Two levels above? Somewhere else? He didn't even know how many floors there were—

"And here we are," the Faun said cheerfully, opening a solid oak door on the left, leading him into a pleasant wood-panelled room with large tables and an almost normal-height ceiling. An enormous fireplace took up nearly all of one of the shorter walls. The door they'd come in by was set in the middle of one of the longer walls, and the opposite wall was filled with tall narrow windows through which he could see a bit of the sea, and downy meadows rolling to the north. The other short wall was half covered in a chalkboard, and half covered in some spongy substance that seemed to allow for a great many bits of paper to be pinned to it.

Was this a… classroom? It was certainly nicer than any he'd been relegated to before!

"Just you bide here a bit, and your tutor, and Their Majesties' tutors, and of course Their Majesties will be with you shortly. There is water in a pitcher over there," Tumnus pointed. "And there are plentiful supplies of ink and paper and quills over there. I'm afraid I have other duties, but you shouldn't be waiting long."  
Avarro nodded dismissively. He wasn't _ten_. He wasn't about to go sniveling into the corner because he was left _alone_.

Indeed he hardly had time to even consider that he was really here in a foreign country, despite his having shouted at Uncle Joncas that he'd never go, before the door opened again and Mr Pallson came in with someone who was so totally his own opposite that Avarro almost forgot his dignity and laughed.

Pallson, of course, was tall and thin and always looked rather stretched, from the top of his bald head to the soles of his long feet. The other person with him was perhaps a third his height, and had an abundance of wild hair growing from his scalp and his chin. He was as proportionately broad as Mr Pallson was thin, and he had to stretch up to see the papers Mr Pallson was bending down to show him.

They made just about the most ridiculous pair that Avarro had ever seen, but before he could decide to make any kind of scathing comment (Mr Pallson hated he could never reply in kind), the door opened again and the Kings and Queens came in. Susan sailed in first, her dark hair braided down her back, her dress neat and correct; next were Peter and Edmund, both looking a little damp as though they'd recently bathed, wearing nice but not ostentatious tunics. Lastly came Lucy, whose hair was pinned tightly to her head and whose ears and neck looked recently scrubbed, as well. Her dress was plainer than her sister's.

Perhaps she'd been out shooting at archery this morning? He seemed to remember King Henrick mentioning at least one of the Queens being an archer. With a start, Avarro realized that not a one of them was wearing their crowns, or indeed any obvious sign of their rank. Queen Susan had a gold lion-shaped brooch, but that was all.

He tried and failed to imagine any of the members of the Telmarine Court passing up an opportunity to wear their chains of office or coronets or diadems. This just goes to prove how really weird these Narnians are, he thought, as he bowed to greet the monarchs. _I can't wait until these six months are up. Maybe, though, if I act just as they want me to, they'll let me go home early. I have a feeling if I act worse, I'll just have more time tacked on to this... this punishment._

* * *

So, that's chapter 3. Do review and let me know what you think!


	4. Sandon

Golden Narnia

Chapter 4: Sandon

* * *

"I can't believe Avarro has been here for four and a half months already," Peter said, flopping down in his favorite chair one evening, as they gathered in his sitting room after dinner. "It feels rather longer."

"You are only angry because he bested you in running today," Susan teased. "Though as I've never seen him work at it, I can't fathom how. He must have a natural talent. He's never once before come to morning arms practice that I know'st."

"I think he runs in the afternoons. Anyway, he won because Orieus isn't making him wear two suits of chain mail when he runs," Edmund groused, stretching out on a sofa. "Oh, I _hurt_."

"Thou poor infant," Lucy said unsympathetically, pushing his feet to the ground and sitting. "Orieus had me holding a brick above my head the whole time today. It's just a couple of pounds. Why do I hurt so?"

Peter and Edmund chuckled sympathetically. "He's done that to us any number of times. Though usually for us it's two bricks. It's to build your shoulder, arm, and wrist muscles to improve your resistance to downstrokes with a sword," Peter said. "It'll help you a mort with your knife-work, not just sword-work."

"Also builds endurance," Edmund said. "Holding even a little weight above your head, when you're not used to it, is a strain."

"And you all wonder why I'm happy sticking to archery," Susan snorted. "At least one of us should be able to move without groaning, if we get surprise visitors."

"Going back to visitors," Peter said. "I admit, hadst some slight doubts when Avarro did first arrive, but I really think he's shaping up finally."

"His attitude has improved," Susan agreed. "He's stopped startling every time he sees a non-human."

"He helped me assist a family of Squirrels in moving things the other day," Lucy said. "I didn't have to ask him, he just stepped up and started helping."

"There's something sly about him still," Edmund said, in a mild tone of voice, "but even I will admit there's been a tremendous improvement. Perhaps the slyness is just part of how he is. I've had him followed, and there's no sign of him falling into the vices which landed him here to begin with."

"That's good to hear," Peter yawned. "Though I'd wager it's our sister Lucy's good influence. Hast spent most of his time with you, Lu, when you're free."

"Kind as thy words are, brother, I cannot take all credit," Lucy replied. "From our conversations, it seems there are a lot more daggers in the dark in Telmar. In that light, his customary caution and suspicion make sense. I think it's only here in Narnia that he has found he can let his guard down, and just be his age. He's not trying to show everyone how grown-up he is. I like him." She said simply. "He has become quite an all right friend. And speaking of being friends…"

"Yes?" Peter raised a questioning eyebrow.

"He let it slip that his birthday is in two weeks. Cannot we have a little party for him, to show we appreciate all the improvements he's made?"

"That's a wonderful idea, Lu!" said Susan, who loved planning social events. "Perhaps we can make some Telmarine dishes, and give him a little flavor of home."

"Great idea, Su. Ed, what think you?"

"Just because I don't fully trust him, doesn't mean I don't want the fellow to be happy," Edmund replied indignantly. "I think it is a goodly gesture. And I wouldn't dare deprive Susan of a chance to plan a party," he grinned, and got a pillow thrown at his face in response.

As the quiet discussion devolved into an all out pillow fight, the guards on duty exchanged mutually amused looks. Their monarchs were wise beyond their years, as befit prophecy-fulfilling kings and queens who'd been crowned by Aslan. But sometimes their monarchs just plain acted their ages, or younger, and the guards rather hoped that would never change.

The birthday party went off without a hitch, and that seemed to cement Avarro's good behavior. He danced not only with Susan and Lucy, but several other ladies of the court too, including a few who were not human. He received his gifts with every evidence of gratefulness, and humbly thanked each and every partygoer for attending.

Edmund did have to intervene once when he realized the young man had poured a goblet full of Archenlandish wine. Before he could drink too much Edmund managed to slip close and quickly explain that it was intended to be diluted quite a bit, and that Avarro really didn't want to know what a wine-head the next day would feel like. "The first time I encountered Archenlandish wine, I didn't know, so I learned it the hard way," he confided. "I'm saving you a very painful wake-up tomorrow."

Avarro rolled his eyes a little, but did dilute the wine, and Edmund was satisfied enough with that.  
Perhaps Avarro really was improving.

And then a few days later, a letter came from Avarro's Uncle Joncas, asking if Cair Paravel wouldn't keep his nephew for, say… another three months? Joncas was going to be away unexpectedly, and it would be better for Avarro to stay with people he now knew, rather than return to a mostly-empty manor house with only servants for company.

When Avarro heard this suggestion, his manservant Sandon saw, for the first time in weeks, a real flash of Avarro's temper. "They've all got used to life without me around, that's what!" Avarro spat. "Oh, certainly, Uncle Joncas writes about how happy he is of the reports of how well I'm doing, and he's so overjoyed that I'm 'mending my behavior' that he's conveniently going on a trip right when I'm supposed to go home, and can't he abandon me in this _backwater_ _country_ for another quarter year! Ridiculous!"

He stewed for a moment, then added, "It can't possibly be related to—to why they sent me away. My uncle's men were only dicing and drinking—"

"Beg pardon, sir," Sandon said. "But the girl—"

"Oh, bah, her. If she's still whining about _that_ , well." Avarro shrugged moodily. "She's a tavern wench. It's practically part of the job description! We—they—didn't do anything really wrong. She should have expected it! If she had been _nice_ about it, she at least would have got money out of it."

"I'm not so sure about it being 'not wrong,'" Sandon ventured, and had to duck when Avarro whipped a boot at his head.

"Who asked you anyway! If this place has been a 'good influence' on me," Avarro sneered, "it's had a damn poor effect on your understanding of your place as a servant. Oh, go away."

Wisely, Sandon did just that, reflecting that if a single letter from his uncle could set off Avarro's temper so rapidly, perhaps it was best, after all, that they were staying a while longer.

Though he was considering finding King Edmund and, perhaps, letting him know more of the details behind Avarro's exile.

* * *

Sandon never got the chance, though, as only a few days later the Kings had to ride out to assist their subjects in rooting out a band of Werewolves that had been seen in the forests.

One afternoon, a week or so after Peter and Edmund had ridden out, Lucy let Avarro know that she was going to be leaving for a fortnight for the Fauns' celebration of summer solstice.

"'I don't like leaving you on your own,'" Avarro mocked that night, repeating the conversation to Sandon as he raged. "Then why is she going, and not taking me with her!" He answered his own question, proving that he was only ranting aloud to vent his feelings, not to actually talk to Sandon. " 'They're quite particular about whom they invite, and it would really be an insult to bring someone who was not invited, you see. And I've gone every year,' " he said (in a simpering voice that Sandon didn't think sounded like Queen Lucy's chiming voice at all), and threw himself down in a chair, throwing his hands in the air. "Then she can damn well afford to _miss_ a year. Don't I mean _anything_ to her? I thought I was her friend." His expression shifted from stony to hurt.

Sandon shook his head as he folded the day's clothing. Avarro had been just the same when he was a small child: Incredible outbursts of rage (in which destructive things tended to happen), followed by a time of self-pity, during which if his every whim were not met, could lead either back into rage or deeper into sulking.

Unfortunately, as Sandon well knew, Avarro's late parents had not disciplined him for these bouts of rage, or the sulking, or any of it. They indulged them. His mother would pet and dote over him, give him whatever he wanted until he'd smile again; his father only chuckled and declared that he had a son who knew his mind, and never considered that his son had virtually no self-restraint.

Sandon still wasn't entirely certain how Avarro's parents had died in that carriage accident, but he did know that they'd finally started to realize what a monster they'd created in their twelve-year-old son, who'd been found the day previous tormenting one of his father's hunting dogs. The Master of Hounds had objected—vociferously—and Avarro's parents had allowed the man to mete out punishment to the boy: first a thorough thrashing, and then a month of cleaning out the kennels.

Avarro had not taken the punishment well, storming around his room breaking things (he was storming around because he couldn't sit at that time).

And then the parents' carriage axle had snapped at just the wrong place, and their necks had been broken, and Avarro sat and listened to the news of their deaths with a not-quite-smile on his face.

Sandon had feared his young master then.

So much so, that when Avarro's Uncle Joncas had arrived for the funeral, Sandon had dared to let the man know of his fears.

Joncas had turned on him, tears streaming down his face, his countenance twisted in outrage. "I'm here to bury my sister and her husband, and you, a lowly servant, come to me with these terrible thoughts?" He'd struck Sandon a blow, knocking him to the ground. "Your place is to protect Avarro, and tend to his needs, and above all _keep your mouth shut_ about what goes on behind closed doors. Do you understand?"

"Yes, great lord," Sandon had muttered to the ground, ashamed: he knew what a servant's position—especially a body servant's position—was in Telmar. A body servant should be discreet and simply do what his master ordered him to do, do what his master needed him to do, to protect his name and reputation.

There had been no further repercussions from Sandon's speaking with Joncas, fortunately. Though a few years later—when the incident with Joncas' guardsmen occurred—he did catch the Duke giving him a thoughtful look, and that was when the whole scheme of getting Avarro out of the country entirely had materialized.

 _Perhaps it is time for another change of scenery,_ he thought, and sighed to himself. For all its oddities, he liked Narnia, and didn't want to leave. Though he found it baffling how nearly all the servants thought it quite meet to offer their opinions and thoughts freely—even when it contradicted their masters' thoughts! Even to the monarchs!

But even when they were contradicted the masters here treated their servants with a great deal of kindness and compassion, which, while strange, was still very nice. Queen Susan, for example, had insisted that Sandon be given a day off each week! He could go down to the market and wander around, or sit by a pond and watch the fish swim, or just sit and do nothing at all. It was a remarkable freedom, and he enjoyed it very much.

But he knew where his duty properly lay, and he didn't wish to see his master commit some major error here in this lovely land that would see Avarro permanently exiled. So perhaps Sandon's best course of action would be to suggest they go… somewhere else. Where, he didn't know, but if he sent word to Joncas' chief steward, he could drop a suggestion into the Duke's ear, and Sandon supposed they'd go on from there.

He certainly didn't want to see Avarro slide back, in any case, and what else could he do? He was just a servant, after all.

* * *

When Lucy returned from her sojourn, happy and light-hearted, she was taken aback to find Avarro sullen and moody.

Susan, who seemed distracted, could only shrug when asked about it. "I tried to engage him while you were gone, but he wouldn't speak with me or go riding, or even walk around the Cair. I did try. I suppose his feelings are still hurt from your going to Dancing Lawn without him, but really! He's sixteen. He should be able to deal with disappointments with some grace by now."

Lucy looked disturbed. "I really had no idea he'd be that disappointed."

"He's friendliest with thee," Susan pointed out. "And he doesn't seem to really be open to meeting other people, though we are starting to get younger people visiting our Court now."

"He might be friendliest with me," Lucy said, sounding a trifle exasperated, "but I still have duties he can't attend. Law court, and hearing grievances, and reviewing treaties and all that."

"I know that, but he seems to be only interested in being friends with thee, anyway," Susan replied. "Perhaps you can get him to meet some of the other people who have arrived. I've had no luck with him. The delegates from Ettinsmoor arrived at the same time as several people from the Archenland Court, and most of them are nearer to our ages. The people from Archenland need cheering, though." She warned her sister.

"Such a terrible, terrible thing to happen," Lucy sighed. "It's been, what, three years since that awful Lord Bar made off with Crown Prince Cor?"

"Yes, it's been almost exactly three years; and Prince Corin still doth ask where his brother is, though they were only about a year old when it happened. His constantly asking is breaking his royal mother's heart, and King Lune is also faltering." Susan bit her lip uncertainly, and took Lucy's hands in hers. "I have a favor to ask of you, sister."

"Of course, whatever do you need?"

"Now that you're back, I should very much like to go and spend some time with them, if you can keep an eye on things here."

"I certainly can!" Lucy exclaimed. "And I shall see what can be done for the people from Archenland. It will be well." Susan still looked uncertain, so Lucy changed the subject. "Now, are the Ettinmoorish people still seeking permission to mine on our border?"

Susan sighed. "They are, which would be all right—we have no Dwarven mines there, after all, and they are mining gypsum, which we have plenty of—but they wish to cut trees to do so. No matter what I say, they cannot seem to understand that those trees are some of our subjects' homes. There's a good sized Badger sett down there, from what I understand, and they do not wish to go. Nor is there any reason they should!"

"Some of those Trees are not only our subjects' homes, some of them are our _subjects_ ," Lucy pointed out. "I believe there is a stand of old Beech trees down that ways, and they have saplings to think of."

"You'd know better than I," Susan replied. "The Trees speak more readily to you."

"I'll check, but I'm fairly certain I'm right. Well, I'll look over what accommodations may be made there, and see if I can't bring them to understand the situation from the Narnian viewpoint. Now, what have we heard from our royal brothers?"

Susan looked a little apprehensive. "They think they're close to wrapping things up. I gather, from Edmund's taciturn letters, that they still have one or two of the Werewolf pack to discover and… and resolve."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "You mean kill. Werewolves are created in evil, they are trained in evil, and foulness follows them where they go. I have yet to meet one who was willing to give up even the smallest part of his depravity."

Susan sighed. "I know. Even though I know it is evil, and evil must be destroyed, I hate the idea of killing anything."

"You are tenderhearted," Lucy said, smiling. "And we love you for it, for it gives the rest of us a different opinion to consider. Remember you stood up for that Satyr who'd done some awful things. The rest of us were just looking to exile him, and you said he might mend, given an honest chance; and you were right. Now Clovius is a wonderful citizen of Narnia, and that's all down to your mercy."

"True. And I _know_ Werewolves are a different matter, but I still dislike having to read about Peter and Edmund killing them. Actually, I think I'm more upset that Peter and Ed are having to kill anything."

"Part of the burden of ruling, I suppose. We get to take on some of the nastier tasks." Lucy replied, and stood. "Well, it sounds like they should be back within a month, if all goes well. Would you rather wait for them to return before you head to Archenland?"

"I don't think so," Susan said slowly. "I'd rather be in Anvard well ahead of the fall storms, and something is telling me I should go sooner rather than later."

"Well, I'll take care of things here," Lucy said stoutly. "So you may concentrate on helping our friends, King Lune and Queen Ramilka, and don't worry about what's happening back here."

"I'll always worry, at least a little," Susan said. "You're my family."

"I know. But you don't need to worry, so do your best to focus on Lune and Ramilka and little Corin, and help them as thou may, Aslan willing."

"Aslan willing, I will," Susan agreed, smiling. "Though you'll be busier than ever, what with taking on all of our duties. You won't have much time to get Avarro out of his ill temper."

"All the more reason he should be happy to meet others his own age," Lucy said firmly. "He spent four years in King Henrick's court. He must understand that a ruler's time is not her own."

"Especially when her co-rulers are abandoning her!" Susan teased.

"You're not abandoning me; you're attending to other duties, that are temporarily more important," Lucy returned. "I can _do_ this. Go, and help them, and return only when you are satisfied that all is as well as it may be."

"I shall," Susan said, and kissed her, and left to prepare for travelling to Anvard.

* * *

So there's Chapter 4. Thanks to those who have reviewed! I didn't mean in my last note to imply I was the least bit unappreciative of the time it takes to write a reaction or a note. I really do appreciate them. Often it's a review that helps to inspire the next chapter! So please do keep your thoughts, reactions etc. coming!


	5. The Archenlanders Arrive

Golden Narnia

Chapter 5: The Archenlanders Arrive

* * *

Lucy did her best to balance all of her conflicting duties, once Susan had gone. Her first full day back she made sure to eat lunch with Avarro, which seemed to mollify his sour mood somewhat. She managed to introduce him to one or two of the humans at court, which he accepted neutrally. Mentally sighing, she set him out of her mind.

She met with the delegation from Ettinsmoor the third day she was back, more to get a feel for their position in the mining request than anything else. As she'd suspected, they were unaware of the direct impact granting their request would have on Narnian citizens. The Ettinmoorish people were a little insular, and they seemed to have difficulty understanding that simply because there were not houses with four walls and a roof in the neighborhood, it did not mean that Narnians did not have homes there.

Lucy thanked them for their time, and left pondering how to get her point across, short of taking the stubbornly obtuse delegation head out and shoving his nose against a wasps' nest to prove that not all creatures lived in houses. Somehow she didn't think that would have quite the right effect, personally satisfying as it might be.

Next was her day in the legal court, hearing grievances and making judgements on issues not covered by Narnia's laws. It was unusual for anything too spectacular to come up, and really difficult or technical cases were generally saved for Edmund, who had a positive flair for coming up with equitable judgments.

The court seemed more crowded than usual today. Perhaps that was the absence of her siblings; it felt strange to sit in Peter's chair at the center of the table, and feel the empty seats around her.

Or perhaps some of the people with issues chose today to come because they thought she'd be more lenient on account of being the youngest, or a girl, or both.

She brought her attention back to the matter at hand and eyed the young Goat in front of her. He'd been caught plainly stealing boots from a shop (he'd wanted to eat them). Officially, the law was clear. A thief owed double the worth of the item to the shop owner, whether or not the item was recovered.

The Goat, though, had no income, being young, and as his mother had five younger kids at home, Lucy was loath to penalize the whole family for one youngster's mistake.

Nor did she want to put the town's sheriff in the position of having to imprison him, as the Goat was just old enough that jail time was a possibility; that would do no one any good at all.

Finally she decided. She fixed the Goat with as stern a look as she could manage. It seemed to work well enough, for the young Goat lowered his head. "Goat Blaphtethemius, since you do not have the funds to make reparations to the shopkeeper, you will instead work for both the shopkeeper and the cobbler from whom he gets the boots, for a space of at least six weeks, until the whole of the debt is paid. You will do whatever work is asked of you, no matter how tedious, without complaint. I hope this time spent assisting others will show the worth of others' labor and time to you, both in the making of goods, and in the selling of goods, and you will understand why we consider theft to be a serious offense. And the next time you are overwhelmed with hunger," she added, "Why not ask if anyone has food to spare?"

"Yes, Queen Lucy. Thank you, Queen Lucy," the goat bleated, grateful to have escaped imprisonment.

He was thanking her _now_ , but she knew the cobbler and the shopkeeper always had lots of work needing to be completed. The wages from working in two shops for six weeks would more than make up the amount owed. Hopefully the goat would mend his ways in the future.

That was the last issue she had to hear today. She dismissed the court and hurried to her room to eat some lunch and change into something to meet with the Archenlanders, who had been very patient indeed, having been here without official welcome for several days.

When she came into the small parlor that had been set aside for them, she found the party of travellers was comprised of about a dozen people, ranging from several years younger than herself, to a couple in their late thirties. Several of the group members appeared to be related to one another.

The oldest man and woman, evidently a couple, saw her slip in, and immediately approached and offered a bow and curtsy, which she graciously waved them out of. "No need, friends, we're being informal here. See? No crown," she smiled, and their tense faces relaxed somewhat.

"I am Sir Aurrey," the man said. "This is my wife, Lady Melanta. We are most pleased to be here in Narnia, Queen Lucy. Our thanks for your hospitality."

"Please, sit," Lucy invited them, and waved at one of the servants, who vanished and brought back some decanters of wine and water. When they were all settled, she fixed them with her clear gaze. "Now. We are aware that Archenland's court has been… troubled. How can we help here in Narnia?"

"It's…" Lady Melanta began, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "There's nothing _wrong_ going on in the Court at Anvard." She said firmly.

"I know," Lucy said, and leaned forward and took her hand. "But there's not a lot that's _good_ going on, either, is there?"

The woman's face crumpled. "No," she agreed tearfully, and evidently couldn't get more words out.

Sir Aurrey, who was a little more stoic, gestured at the youngest people in the room, two boys and a girl between six and eleven years of age. "Those are our children," he said. "Thad, Nil, and Mora. Nil was just two when Prince Cor was lost to us. He has never known King Lune's court while it was cheerful, and happy, and lively. But…"

His wife picked up the thread. "You are certainly wondering why after three years, we are not used to the sadness that is part of the court now. Well, late this spring, Her Majesty Queen Ramilka became ill. We thought she'd got a cold. Only, after years of mourning, she is weakened, and faltering, and seems unwilling to heal, even for the sake of Prince Corin.

"After six months of strain and silence at court, we decided it wasn't healthy for our children to live in such a bleak place, so we asked King Lune if we could repair to our Northern neighbors for a time. He… he understood. But to our surprise, a number of other noble persons declared they would come with us, if His Majesty permitted it, and he did."

"I think he'd rather be his own cheerful self," Sir Aurrey said. "But he feels it would be disloyal to his wife to show enjoyment in much, now. Which is a shame."

"It is," Lucy agreed. "Which is why my sister, the Queen Susan, is even now on her way to Anvard, to see what assistance she might bring. But you all are very welcome to Cair Paravel. I only ask that everyone in your party has been advised that not all of Our subjects are human, but they deserve as much respect as any in Narnia."

"Of course!" Lady Melanta said. "We've already met your Mr Tumnus. The children are enthralled."

At that Lucy smiled. "He has a soft spot for children. Speaking of which, if you have need of tutors or nursemaids or any other such person, please let Mr Tumnus know and he will find a suitable person to help you. And now, won't you introduce me to your travelling companions?"

In the end, it seemed the group of Archenlanders was comprised of Sir Aurrey and Lady Melanta; their three children; a newlywed couple about Peter's age, Lord Flor and Lady Adelaide; a gangly seventeen-year-old boy, Marc, who wished to become a scholar; two high born sisters aged about twenty named Sar and Dia, who hoped to become one or the other of the Queens' ladies-in-waiting; their cousins Bor and Boris, two newly-minted young knights in their early twenties, whose prospects of land or progress in Archenland were slim (they were hoping for opportunities of service to the Kings); and—

"But where is my cousin Rorin?" Lady Melanta asked in surprise, looking around.

She turned to Lucy. "I seem to have misplaced the last member of our party, my cousin Rorin, who mostly hopes to learn more weapons-work here. But I can't think where he's got to."

"Oh, Lord Rorin was called to the stable," Boris said. "There was a problem with one of the horses, and nothing would do but he go down his own self. Though I'm sure, Your Majesty, that he intended no insult to your grooms and farriers—" he added hurriedly to Lucy.

Lucy laughed. "Not at all. I admire someone who is conscientious about those things that have been placed in his care. There have been many times when I myself have lurked about the stables if there is an issue with my riding horse Lirana, though certainly there are those far better versed in animal healing than I." Boris laughed and looked relieved.

Once they'd all had a chance to chat a while, and Lucy sensed they'd all relaxed somewhat, she asked them all to dine with her that evening as her especial guests, new-come to the Court, so they might meet their fellow court members, and begin making connections here.

She already had determined to introduce Sar and Dia to Mrs Beaver. The young ladies professed to be quite fond of embroidery, and Lucy knew there was at least one tapestry and two of Susan's gowns that weren't being worked on while Susan was away. That might be a nice surprise for her sister when she got back from Archenland. It would also be a good way to put the sisters' talents to use and make them feel needed and welcome. She hadn't got much of a chance to talk to Lord Flor and Lady Adelaide, but as they were still honeymooning, she'd leave them be for a while.

The young knights, Bor and Boris, she'd introduce to Orieus in the morning at training, and let him deal with whatever they'd need to fit into the Narnian military service. She was confident Mr Tumnus had already made plans for the children's education and occupation, and surely their parents would welcome a few weeks to get settled into their apartments at the Cair.

Marc, she decided, she'd take in hand herself, and show him around the library tomorrow sometime. The boy seemed rather shy. Hopefully having Lucy show him where things were in the library would set him at ease, rather than sending the boy into the spacious library alone.

A rather stern Centaur was the chief librarian, and Lucy wouldn't want to send anyone easily cowed in to Greyrock alone. Greyrock was wonderful when one got to know him, but it had taken Lucy the better part of a year to wear him down. She'd try to help Marc along.

That left Lady Melanta's cousin, Rorin, who still hadn't returned. Lucy got an earful when she pressed Melanta for more information. It seemed Rorin was two years older than Lucy, around Edmund's age, and had been working and training toward his knight's belt when disaster struck: the knight to whom he'd been eqsuired had died unexpectedly of a lung illness.

For the better part of a year Rorin had been rather in limbo, as all of the other knights in Archenland already had enough squires, and did not wish to take on a relative stranger halfway through his training. But gaining a knighthood in Archenland required either a great service, or a senior knight to avow before the Court that the squire had accorded himself befitting a knight for a certain number of years, and had completed all of the training and service necessary. None of the senior knights, of course, could ask Rorin's previous master how far along he'd gotten in that training, so none were quite willing to take him on.

"As though they couldn't take Rorin's word for it," Melanta had huffed. "He has already taken vows of honor and chastity and faithfulness in Aslan's name, and he comes from a family that values sticking to one's word. Our grandfather was an earl, after all. But they won't, so that's that." She sighed. "He's hoping someone here can put what he's learned to some good use, and perhaps in a few years he can go back into service to become a knight. It's a shame. He's a lovely boy, but has never got a break in his life. His parents died young, so mine raised him—he's really like a younger brother to me. His master died, as I've mentioned; the court has just been bleak for years; and then last year, the young lady he was interested in decided to marry someone rich who was twenty years older than she, which was rather a blow. Oh," she added, at Lucy's look, "It was only a puppy love, but her betrayal still hurt, of course. I think that's part of why he wanted to get away from Archenland, too. I hope he finds happiness here."

"I hope so too," Lucy said sincerely. There was a discreet cough behind her, and she turned to find one of the secretaries hovering nearby, reminding her of her next appointment. "And I'm afraid I must take my leave of you all, now, but I look forward to dining with all of you this evening."

"It will be our honor and pleasure, Your Majesty," Sir Aurrey said, bowing, but Lucy thought they all might have looked at least a little happier than when she'd come in. It was all she could do.

* * *

"Remind me what else is on my agenda today?" Lucy asked the Dryad as they walked along the corridor.

Alissa looked through her notes. "Your Majesty needs ten minutes to speak with the cooks about the feast for King Edmund's birthday, assuming he's back for it, and then forty minutes conferring with General Orieus about recent updates to the Kings' campaign in the North. He leaves to meet the kings' messengers tomorrow morn immediately following arms practice, so if there are messages to go to your royal brothers, give them to him then. After that meeting, there is an elocution lesson with Barnabas, I've scheduled you a ten minute break so you can sit down, which thou art _not_ to skip," she gave Lucy a look, "and then Mr Tumnus has requested a meeting to discuss how to disperse the Archenlanders in a useful way. Following that, it's back to your rooms to dress for dinner, and I've arranged for some musicians to come in and play after, make it a little festive for the Archenlanders."

"How lovely! Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Alissa. What does tomorrow look like?" Lucy said, starting down the stairs that led toward the kitchens. "I want to show young Marc the library, if I can."

"Weapons-training in the morning, of course. What with three young men to add, it might run longer than usual. Then you are supposed to meet Lilygloves down along Glasswater Creek to see where he's proposing to plant some citrus trees, which will take several hours. When you return, there's another meeting scheduled with the Ettinmoorish people, and then a review of the law courts' proceedings in the evening. We can probably fit young Master Marc in between weapons-training and departing for Glasswater."

Lucy tapped her chin, thinking. "Hm. And the rest of the week?"

The Dryad paged through her notes, deftly avoiding a palace page without, evidently, having to look. "The next day, after weapons-work, there is a planning session for Queen Susan's artistic festival—don't make a face, Your Majesty, your sister looks forward to it every year—and then the Fauns have requested a meeting regarding next year's Solstice meeting. General Orieus is expected to return that evening."

Alissa turned over another leaf. "The day after that, weapons-work and then a poetry recital in the library. General Orieus will again update you on the Kings' situation in the north, the housekeepers have their usual meeting, which you are requested to attend, and the armorers have some new innovations they've been evidently pining to show you. Well, as much as a Dwarf ever really _pines_ for anything. Your tea with Mr Tumnus is that afternoon. Later, there is a review of musicians for King Edmund's birthday fete—"

"—if he's back for it—"

"—and a semi-formal dinner for the Archenlanders, to let them mingle more with the rest of the members of the Court. The following day, after weapons' work, you have an hour with nought particular planned, and then you're to inspect the local schools and hear the children's recitations. Upon returning to the Cair, another meeting with the Ettinmoorish delegation, and that's all until next week."

Lucy shook her head ruefully. "I am glad I get to share out all of these tasks usually!"

"You're doing most wonderfully, Your Majesty." Alissa said loyally, reaching to pull open the heavy door that led to the kitchens.

"Thank you for your kind words, but sometimes I feel—" Lucy found herself cut off by the sound of quick footsteps echoing off the flagstones. Both she and Alissa turned. Lucy was surprised to see Avarro jogging down the corridor to catch up to her.

"Queen Lucy," he said, "I've been looking all over for you."

"I've been in meetings," she said. "In fact, I'm on my way to another right now. What do you need?"

His face fell. "Oh. Nothing. I just… haven't seen you in a while, that's all."

"Well, my schedule really isn't my own," she reminded him. "When Ed and Su and Peter are back I'll have more time, but for now, I'm afraid I'm swamped."

He only looked more dejected.

"I know!" she exclaimed. "Ride with me down to my meeting at Glasswater Creek tomorrow. I'll be busy during the meeting itself, of course, but perhaps we can talk on the ride down somewhat."

He perked up. "Really?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow then."

He left, evidently in a much better mood.

"Easily dejected and easily satisfied, that one," Alissa said, tilting her head. "Are all human boys so strange?"

Lucy shrugged. "I believe they're not generally that… sensitive," she said. "But then, everyone's different, I suppose. Now, I have a meeting with the cooks…?"

* * *

The rest of her appointments flew by, and soon it was time for dinner. Lucy came in to the small banqueting hall, far less grand than the Great Hall, and perfect for hosting just a couple dozen people. Or, as was the case tonight, fifteen humans, two Centaurs, three Dryads, a Faun, and a Bear. There were the twelve Archenlanders, Lucy herself, Lord Peridan and his wife, and their young son, who looked around the hall with wide eyes.

General Orieus was dining with them, at Lucy's request, so that Greyrock, the Chief Librarian, was not the only Centaur present. But this way Lucy could introduce Marc to Greyrock in a casual setting. The Dryads were some of Susan's ladies-in-waiting, whom Lucy wanted to meet the Archenland ladies and assess their possible skills; Mr Tumnus was the Faun, and the Bear was a not-obvious guard, at General Orieus' insistence.

Lucy was pleased to see everyone walking around and talking with one another when she came in, and she was just greeting Orieus ironically, as this was approximately the fourth time today she'd seen him, when Lady Melanta came up, towing a younger man a couple of years older than Lucy.

"Your Majesty, please let me introduce my cousin, Lord Rorin," Melanta said, as Lucy turned toward her. "We did eventually find him."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Lord Rorin," Lucy replied.

The young man swept a perfect bow, leaning over Lucy's hand. "Your Majesty, I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." Still bowing, he turned his face up to hers and smiled. Lucy had never before really comprehended the phrase "took your breath away," but she thought she was getting an inkling now, as the undeniably handsome young man turned his intense blue-green eyes toward her. Waves of chestnut hair fell from a high brow, and a white smile split his lightly tanned face.

"I've heard such wonderful things about Cair Paravel, and Narnia, and all." His smile widened and became warmer.

"Although," he continued as he straightened up, "I cannot believe no one ever specifically mentioned how lovely Narnia's younger Queen is."

Lucy smiled, willing to be charmed. "How kind of you to say. Lord Rorin, allow me to welcome you to Narnia, and I hope you will find yourself at home here soon."

"I feel like I'm settling in already," he murmured, and seemed to forget to move until Lady Melanta poked him.

"Go, find a place, so the Queen can sit; if the Queen can't sit, none of us can eat."

Shaken loose from her bemusement, Lucy laughed and nodded, and waved everyone to take their places. She had to admit, she felt a slight thrill when Rorin turned back to look at her twice. Usually it was Susan who got the second and third looks. It was a pleasant change.

Somehow when the desserts had been brought out, and the music started, Rorin ended up sitting next to General Orieus, who was sitting next to Lucy. They all three ended up in an animated discussion of the relative merits of the various forms of unarmed combat, and during the conversation it transpired that Rorin's old master had taught him several tricks new even to the well-rounded Orieus. The Centaur immediately insisted Rorin come to the next morning's arms practice and show them some of the moves he was describing.

From the sidelong look she was getting from the general, Lucy rather thought Orieus was intending to add these moves to Lucy's arsenal of tricks.

It seemed a favorite pastime of his, since of the Four, Lucy was the most likely to be both away from the Cair, and the least guarded (she refused to take guards with her when visiting schools or going walking on the beach, for example). And perhaps one of these moves would be suitable for a quandary they hadn't yet solved: How Lucy could best defend herself while wearing full Court gowns, which allowed very little in the way of armament or weapons. (Though if she were at a Court event, Lucy couldn't fathom anyone wishing to harm her. Which was exactly why Orieus was concerned. They often bounced his pessimism and her optimism off of one another.)

All in all, Lucy went to sleep that night confident it was a day's work well done.

* * *

So there's Chapter 5. Kindly let me know what you think! Review review review (please)!


	6. Training

Golden Narnia

Chapter 6: Training

* * *

The next morning on the training grounds, Lucy had to muffle a laugh. She wore her usual beaten-up clothes, armor, and mail that she trained in, and her hair was braided and pinned and covered with a cap. No one else who'd been training with her gave her a second glance, but Lord Rorin had looked faintly taken aback when he realized the 'boy' he'd been looking at was really she.

She commented on it in a light tone. "Lord Rorin, you look somewhat scandalized." She was expecting him to pooh-pooh a girl learning weapons-work, and instead got a pleasant surprise.

"Queen Lucy, I apologize for staring," he said. "I am being stupid. From our conversation last night, it was obvious you had experiential knowledge of combat, and not just book-learning. I simply was not expecting you to be… er, disguised, and so did not pay you the proper deference when I saw you. I was scandalized at my own obtuseness and lack of gentility."

"The Queen has found that if she is not obviously the queen, or even a female, her practice bouts tend to be more useful," Orieus said. "Otherwise her opponents tend to hold back. Her royal brothers still do."

"They've seen me running about in odd clothing and wild braids all my life," Lucy replied. "For them, they can't forget I'm their sister. They do their best."

"If they truly did their best, they'd fight you properly," Orieus said. "But they have gotten better," he allowed. "Now, Lord Rorin. Show us some of these tricks your old master imparted to you."

"It's less combat, and more wrestling," Rorin answered. "The goal being to get your opponent on the ground long enough you can get away if you need to."

He started describing some of the moves, and both Orieus and Lucy looked intrigued. "So, if you got your opponent's arm sort of like this…" Lucy said, reaching up and taking hold of Rorin's arm.

He nodded. "Yes, then provided you push _here_ and _here_ , he can't move without overextending his elbow."

"But if your opponent moves his arm like _that_ , and bends here, he can get out," Orieus said, pointing.

"Right! But that's why you…"

The discussion continued until finally Orieus declared, "Enough talk. Let us go through these movements, slowly."

They started to work through them together, stepping through the motions, and after a while, Lucy started to catch on. She ignored the curious looks from the others training in the yard.

"But wait," she said, on a slight gasp as Rorin levered her elbow out and level with her ear. "What if I—" She shrugged down a shoulder and twisted, and in a moment was free.

Rorin's shoulders sagged. "I know. That's as much as my master taught me before he passed away. He said there was a way to adjust the grip so your opponent was only able to move in one direction. If he didn't, his air would slowly be cut off, and he would fall unconscious. But since moving in that one direction hurt, most opponents would fall unconscious before getting free. Then you could run, or tie him up, or whatever you needed to do, when he was out cold."

Orieus stroked his chin. "It is intriguing. We shall continue working on it; as it is, several of those moves could be converted into combat moves to incapacitate a potential enemy, Queen Lucy, so we will work on that, as well. Now, kindly go get your practice knives." Lucy nodded and headed off.

Orieus turned to the would-be squire. "Lord Rorin, what weapons expertise have you?"

"I don't know about _expertise_ , General Orieus," Rorin said. "But my master was teaching me sword work and archery and staff work."

Orieus nodded. "A sound foundation for the martial arts."

"Erm…"

"You have a question?"

"The Queen Lucy fights with _knives_?"

"She doesn't yet. She will, if I have anything to say about it," Orieus said. "By her will we are training her in sword work, and she is now getting to be almost a good an archer as the Queen Susan. But as a sword is not nearly so ready to hand as a knife, to a Queen, she and I are working on knife fighting skills as well."

"That seems… very practical." Rorin frowned.

"Queen Lucy is generally quite lighthearted, but despite this, and despite her youth, she can be very practical," Orieus said. "Just as all of the Monarchs have many facets. If you stay here long enough, you will come to know their varying sides."

Rorin smiled. "Even in just a few days, I've met so many wonderful people here. The Narnian Court is just so… so happy."

Orieus' eyes warmed. "It is a joyous place, Aslan be praised. Now, to work." He trotted over to the side of the yard and retrieved his own practice sword. "Lord Rorin, be on your guard. Let's see what your old master has taught you."

* * *

More than an hour later, Rorin was toweling sweat from his face and marveling at the Centaur's stamina.

He'd just had a workout like he hadn't had in years, and the Centaur had simply told him to cool down, and trotted over to a knot of Guardsmen working through drills. Lucy had left a while earlier, beckoned away by some palace flunky or other. Rorin found it interesting she'd got permission from Orieus to leave the drill grounds before she left. She really did take this training seriously.

He passed through the doorway back into Cair Paravel, heading towards the rooms he'd been given, intent on a wash and a change.

He nearly bowled over Queen Lucy, who managed to not look at all like she'd spent the past ninety minutes running around fighting a Centaur and other humans.

He was going so quickly he almost knocked her down, and had to grab her shoulders quickly to keep her on her feet. His face went pink with embarrassment as he blushed and bowed. "My apologies, Queen Lucy, I didn't see you there."

"It's no matter," Lucy replied cheerfully. "I'm still pretty short, so a lot of people don't always see me. I was coming to find you, actually."

"Me?"

"Yes. I have business down at Glasswater Creek today, and some people and I are riding down. Would you care to accompany us?"

"Certainly!" It was a great honor, to be asked to accompany a member of the Royal Family somewhere. At least, in Archenland it was. Perhaps here it was different? Regardless he found himself really liking Queen Lucy, and welcomed the opportunity to learn more about her, and by extension, this happy land of Narnia.

Her smile brightened the hallway. "Wonderful, I was hoping you'd say yes. We'll meet outside the south gate in thirty minutes. I'll see you there."

"Of course," he bowed, and as soon as she was gone, made double time back to his rooms. He didn't want to be late.

When they all convened on the south lawn, Rorin was interested to see the mixture of people going. There was Queen Lucy, of course, and a sandy-haired young man standing close by her.

The Faun who'd quietly welcomed the Archenlander party to Cair Paravel the night they'd arrived was there, going over something on a paper, and there were two others who he thought were Dryads, from their height and the faint suggestion of wispiness about them. They were looking over the horses that had been led out of the stables (all dumb beasts, of course; as an Archenlander, Rorin knew what an affront it would be to suggest riding a Talking Horse). At Lucy's feet, between her and the sandy-haired young man, lay a midnight-dark panther.

When Lucy saw him coming, she smiled and waved him over. "Lord Rorin, hello!" Keeping an eye on the panther, Rorin approached cautiously.

She introduced him around—the Faun wasn't going; the others were. When he was introduced to young "Avarro, of the Telmarine court," Rorin was surprised at the annoyance in the young man's face, as though being introduced were an affront. Rorin wasn't quite sure how to handle this, so he decided to ignore it for the moment.

"And this is my personal guard, Tawi," Lucy said, and the panther stood, giving him a long look.

Rorin swallowed, throat suddenly dry as the Cat padded toward him. She seemed much, much larger than when she was lying down. And then she spoke, her voice rasping out past glinting fangs.

"Of your kindness, do not move for a moment, Lord Rorin," she said, and circled him, drawing in a long breath as she did. When she'd completed circling him twice, she sat back at Lucy's feet, and looked up at her. "All right, Your Majesty. We can go now. I have everyone's scents."

"Scents, milady?" Rorin asked curiously, pushing down his nerves.

The panther gave him an approving look and bared her teeth in a feline grin. "If anything should happen to Her Majesty, I will know who was with her. I will also be able to track her, if somehow she is taken away."

"Ah. I see." Rorin said, and cast a speculative look at Lucy. It just seemed so… _strange_ to think of anyone wanting to harm her. She was short, young, and fresh-faced, and didn't look like someone who would invite _any_ harm. But, he reminded himself, young or not, she was a Queen.

There was a call from someone nearby, and people started checking girths and bridles in preparation for leaving. They mounted up and started moving down the path. Though he was certain Tawi, the panther, could kill him when he was in the saddle nearly as easily as when he was on the ground, somehow the extra height of being on horseback made his fear subside significantly.

Lucy was still close enough to continue their conversation. "Queen Lucy, allow me to say that I sincerely hope the extra caution is unnecessary," Rorin said, nodding toward the panther who padded beside her horse.

Lucy grimaced a little. "Generally it isn't, but our captain of the guard insists. Especially as I am the only one of the Four in Cair Paravel at present."

"I suppose a little caution never hurt," Rorin replied, then brightened as a thought struck him. "Perhaps I can offer service to Narnia in the guard, if there are positions available."

"Oh, don't worry about finding a position so soon," Lucy replied. "Get to know Narnia a little first. Where you fit in might just surprise you."

Rorin turned to include Avarro in the conversation. The young man had an unpleasant expression on his face and was slouched in his saddle on the other side of Lucy. Rorin ignored his look and commented, "That's likely true. You've been here for a while, Avarro, what do you think?"

"What does it matter what I think? No one cares," Avarro replied, glaring at him.

Lucy shot Rorin an apologetic look and reined her horse over near Avarro's. "Avarro," she said, in a quieter tone. "What is the matter? You're not usually rude."

He reddened slightly. "My uncle doesn't want me back home. I don't belong anywhere," he said.

"You're welcome at Cair Paravel, surely you know that," she replied.

"Am I? You've got a new friend to talk to now," he said, nodding at Lord Rorin. "I thought you and I were going to get to spend some time together today."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I can have more than one friend, you know. And Lord Rorin is only a little older than you, and he's quite nice. If you'd give him half a chance, I'd bet you two would get on pretty well."

He snorted.

"Well, let me know when you're through with your snit," she said, a little sharply. "I don't know what's got into you, but when you're over it, _then_ you may speak to me." She kicked her horse into a faster gait and rode ahead, spine straight. She waved Rorin to keep up with her as she passed him, who dutifully obeyed, studiously looking away from Avarro's reddening face.

Only Tawi, glancing back, saw the expression on his face before he quickly assumed a stonier countenance. Avarro didn't look embarrassed, or chastened. He looked furious.

The group made it to Glasswater Creek without incident. They all dismounted in a little glade near the flowing water's edge and stretched after the long ride. Lucy glanced at Avarro's still-dark face, rolled her eyes a little, and knelt to look at the plans Lilygloves had made ready for her to review.

Tawi settled down nearby and began cleaning her paws of dust, keeping a watchful eye on the young Queen.

Rorin stayed near his horse, uncertain what he should be doing. He was here at the Queen's request, but she was quite obviously occupied in a discussion with a Mole, who was gesturing around them excitedly. Evidently the excitement was contagious, as Queen Lucy's gestures also became animated, and a becoming flush warmed her cheeks.

He found himself gazing at her, wondering how it was always Queen Susan whose beauty was spoken of, when Queen Lucy was so pretty. True, she was young, but he could see her growing into a lovely woman. She exuded life and happiness with every shake of her head.

"Who are you, anyway?" A somewhat rough voice shook him out of his reverie, and he turned to see the Avarro standing sullenly to the side. Evidently his boredom was such that he now deigned to speak to others.

While he'd love to ignore the rudely-put question, especially after how petulantly the other young man had behaved on the ride down, his knightly training rose to the fore and reminded Rorin that the better part of valor was to treat those who disdained you with politeness whenever possible.

"I'm Lord Rorin of the house Namh, of Archenland." He said politely. "There are a party of Archenlanders spending some time at the Narnian Court. I am one of their number."

"Oh. Archenland." The sandy-haired stripling didn't seem to know what to do with that information.

Rorin prompted him. "And you are...?"

"I'm Avarro, from Telmar. I'm here at the _request_ of the royal family."

Rorin ignored the arrogant tone. "And what do you do, here in Narnia?"

"Oh—I—well." He seemed to fumble for words. "I, er, study. And learn." Abruptly he asked, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I just said, our group from—"

"No, not 'here in Narnia.' _Here_." He gestured around them.

"Her Majesty asked if I'd like to come; I 's all."

"But—but when did she ask you?" Avarro sputtered. "You just got here!"

"Why, this morning, after—"

"This morning? But she… Never mind." The sulky look came back over his face. "I suppose she _had_ to. Since you're new."

"Her Majesty may do as she wishes; I cannot possibly comment on her feelings behind any of her actions, but I believe her invitation to me was a warm and friendly one. Not one of obligation," Rorin said stiffly, inclined his head shortly, and walked away before he did something he'd regret.

Like punch one who was evidently some sort of favorite of the Queen between his squinting, suspicious eyes.

Rorin found himself standing near Tawi. "I don't think I like that Avarro fellow much," he said. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until she replied to him.

The sleek black head turned to look up at him. "Then I believe you have a good sense of people, Son of Adam," the panther rasped. "I have never liked his scent. Why the Queen puts up with his tantrums…" her sides heaved in a sigh. "But that is more than I should say."

"I understand you perfectly, madame Tawi. I really do," he answered, watching Avarro glare and sulk where he'd left him.

* * *

On the ride back, Lucy took pains to speak with Avarro for a time, which seemed to mollify the angry young man a great deal. Rorin rode a distance behind them, watching. Avarro seemed to be wheedling for something, more like a six year old than a sixteen year old, but Lucy was shaking her head to whatever it was. Rorin couldn't hear them. Eventually she heaved a sigh and a weary laugh and waved her hand. "Fine. _Fine_. But that's _all_ , Avarro. I'm very busy."

Avarro fell back then, an undeniable smirk crossing his face.

Rorin considered a moment, then moved his horse along the column to Lucy. As he did, he heard a low-toned growl of words from the panther, which he couldn't make out. As he neared Lucy, he heard her reply: "It's just a visit to the local school. I'm sure it will be fine."

"I do not like him as your escort," and now there was a hint of a snarl. "Please, take someone else."

"I can't," Lucy said, sounding irritated. "I've promised."

"It was a foolish promise to make, then," the panther replied, and Rorin's eyebrows rose. He'd noticed that the Narnian court did seem a trifle less formal than Archenland's, but that reply was really rather over the line.

Evidently, Queen Lucy agreed, for she replied sharply. "Tawi, stop it. I've made my decision."

There was a slight growl from the panther, but she subsided.

By this time Rorin's horse had caught up to Queen Lucy's. He noticed the color was high in her face. Wisely he decided to say nothing about the argument he'd overheard (it was none of his affair, after all), and instead said pleasantly, "Do you have to go visit all new ventures like the planning of that citrus grove, then?"

She looked over in him in surprise and smiled. It looked a little strained. "No, only those that involve other countries, or those being funded by the treasury. Or if the proposed change might cause problems, like when a Badger sett wanted to put their home under a roadway, which would have caused both to collapse. Mostly we try to encourage people to work things out for themselves, when we can. Otherwise it comes to our hearings, and it is rare that any one person is totally satisfied with our judgements there."

"Which likely means you are arriving at really fair decisions," Rorin pointed out, and she laughed, the rest of the irritation fading from her face.

"By Aslan's grace, I hope that is true."

"So what else does a Queen of Narnia have to do with her time, besides discuss grove planning and render judgements?" He asked, settling into his saddle comfortably. The wood they rode through had a pleasant mix of sun and shade, and while he could see the shining walls of Cair Paravel rising in the middle distance, they'd still be riding for a while.

"Oh, later there's another State meeting with the Ettins."

"The Ettins? I thought it was all Giants up there."

"It's _mostly_ Giants—the chief family right now are related to the Buffins, rather nice sorts of Giants—but there are Men there, too. It is a party of Humans who are here."

"What under the sun could bring them to Narnia? I'd always heard they were rather insular."

Lucy pursed her lips. "Minerals. They need some for building materials, as the Giants rather take up most of the available resources on Ettinsmoor, but they are being positively—well. It's a bit frustrating," she said, speaking carefully, "to try to help people who refuse to give any way themselves. But that is my problem to deal with. Have you any plans for the rest of your day?"

"None yet. Do you have any suggestions?" Rorin asked, hopeful she would invite him to spend more time with her.

It was just so refreshing to be around a ruler who was happy most of the time. Even if that ruler was very young. But then, she was only a year or so younger than he himself...

"Have you visited the library yet? It's nearly my favorite place to go when I have nothing planned. Lately, that's rare," she rolled her eyes a little, but smiled. "But you should go, and see what you can discover."

Rorin smiled back at her. "I will, and I'll let you know what I find."

"I look forward to hearing about it," Lucy said, and shortly afterward, they all arrived back at the Cair.

Rorin gamely headed to the library, satisfied that at least he'd lifted Lucy's mood a little. Though he really hadn't a good idea what had caused her mood to darken in the first place. Despite only being here a few days, he sensed that dark moods were not typically part of her makeup. And he had no wish for the court of Narnia to become half so grim as that of Archenland.

* * *

So there's the next bit. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to the folks who reviewed! It truly, really means a lot and I appreciate the time taken.


	7. Stress on a Lone Queen

Golden Narnia Chapter 7: Stress on a Lone Queen

* * *

The busy days without her siblings seemed somehow to both fly by, and take forever to get through. By the end of the first full week with _all_ of her siblings gone, Lucy was beginning to feel the strain. From the sidelong, worried looks she was getting (especially from Orieus), her determinedly bright smiles weren't fooling everyone.

She was grateful for the budding friendship with the would-be knight, Rorin, who seemed Aslan-sent. Just when she was starting to feel really fatigued, or overwhelmed, there he was with a glass of water, or a kind word, or a happy thanks at her suggesting the library to him. He genuinely seemed to be doing his flat best to fit in and contribute to Narnia.

 _It's a far cry from Avarro's behavior lately,_ she thought sourly, finally escaping into the quietness of her rooms.

Her head throbbed. _How can one person cause so much aggravation?_

It was a struggle to recall how relaxed she'd been just earlier that afternoon in the orchard, discussing the coming flowering season with one of the resident Woodpeckers.

The light, inconsequential conversation seemed more than just a few hours ago—far more.

She'd gone off to her school review in _such_ a good mood, even seeing Avarro's slightly sulky face waiting to escort her to the school (as she'd promised he could) hadn't dented it.

But it seemed Avarro, if he couldn't be the center of attention, instead delighted in making everyone else as miserable as he was.

She felt the mix of anger and annoyance rise again. What was _wrong_ with him?

She knew it was cowardly, but now that she was finally in her rooms, she realized she just couldn't bear the idea of going down to dinner. In her rooms, it was calm and the quiet folded around her; the hall would be crowded and noisy.

And Avarro was sure to be there. Right now if she saw him she didn't know if she'd rather punch him and walk away, or take the high road and pointedly ignore him. Or possibly start screaming at him.

Deciding that perhaps not having to choose any of these options was the best course of action, she asked Alissa to see that her dinner was brought up to her rooms, pleading a headache after the full day. The Dryad was quick to comply, not hiding her concerned look.

Lucy's headache was only too real, pounding in her temples. She knew she wouldn't be able to disguise her uncertain mood from anyone, and it would only cause worry.

And if asked, what would she say? She couldn't even pinpoint whether the lingering feeling was anger, frustration, or confusion. Maybe all three.

But she did know its cause: Avarro's ridiculous behavior during the school visit.

As she mechanically ate her dinner, she wondered how long it would be before General Orieus showed up.

The Centaur had become not only their general and chief military advisor, but also their trainer, confidant, and a father figure to them all. While he was stern and stoic generally, he certainly had a softer side that showed itself in fierce defense of the Four. And with all three of her siblings away, all of that avuncular concern fell on her.

She pondered whether to tell him about Avarro, but what would she tell? That he'd embarrassed her? That seemed petty. Hysterical.

She frowned at herself. Was she overreacting? Avarro had certainly seemed confused at her reaction.

 _Aslan, help me._ She sighed and pushed away from the table, instead curling up in her favorite soft chair near the fireplace. What would Susan say? _'_ _Think about it logically. Why should or should you not be angry with him?'_

All right. One thing at a time.

She'd been annoyed at Avarro to start with, what with his having weaseled his way into going to the school with her.

Normally she loved going to the schools alone, so she could pretend she was just an older student, come to hear the littles' recitations and give them some encouragement. Having anyone besides her siblings along, even a friend, meant she really couldn't forget the 'Queen' part of 'Queen Lucy,' which irritated her.

So: yes, she'd been annoyed, and inclined to sharpness with him. She _might_ have been—hmm—call it, primed to overreact to things. A point in that column, then.

But he'd behaved boorishly during the recitations, sighing audibly, and looking around as though he was bored. No one had asked him to come! The least he could have done was at least pretend to be interested. For the children's sake, if nothing else.

He _had_ behaved poorly. She had the right to be irritated with him. Point against him.

But then had come the part that confused her still, hours later. _Aslan, help me figure this out._

Lucy always had a free question time at the end of her visits, and the teacher had taken advantage of this (with permission) to step out and get a glass of water.

It had all gone normally for a few minutes. Then a little Hedgehog had asked who Avarro was, and Lucy had smiled at the Hedgehog and said, "He's a friend who has come to visit from very far away."

A little girl (who looked like she had Dryad blood) had asked, "Oh! Is he your _special_ friend? My big sister has a special friend. He's a big boy like him."

Lucy had gone scarlet, but before she could reply, Avarro had put his _arm_ around her and answered (with a wide smirk that made her want to slap him), "Oh, I think I'm pretty special. Don't you agree, Queen Lucy?"

 _What was he doing?_ She'd stepped away from him quickly. "He is a very good friend." She said firmly to the children. "All of my friends are special in their own way. Do you have friends who have special talents?" She asked, trying to steer the class back to safe waters.

For a moment this worked, as the children shouted out all the things their friends could do. "Tommy can catch wild frogs!" "Suzanna can turn three cartwheels!" "Dogo can fly in circles!" (Upon further inquiry, this last proved to be a Kingfisher chick who lived near the little boy's house.)

Then the same little Dryad, with a perplexed look on her face, pulled on Avarro's sleeve. He hadn't been paying attention (again), and looked down in surprise. Uncertainly he bent down to hear her whisper.

Then suddenly he was standing next to Lucy _with his arm around her again_ (!), even closer this time. "Little Missy over there wants to know if I've kissed you?" He said jovially, but his face darting towards hers wasn't entirely joking.

Startled, she jerked her head back and turned her face away, surprised at his nearness. She reflexively flung a hand up between them, so his kiss landed on her palm instead of her cheek. Deftly she stepped back, his arm falling away. "Lion's Mane, Avarro, what are you doing?" she hissed, feeling something beyond annoyance now.

He was laughing at her reaction. Point in the 'ill behavior' column.

"It was just a joke," he said, in a wheedling tone, which confused her. He sounded chiding: "Don't be like that."

 _Was_ it a joke? Was she being over sensitive?

The children had quieted slightly, looking a little uncertain at the sudden tension in the room, so she smiled for their benefit, unsure what she should do.

End the visit as soon as possible, for one.

"Oh, you're such a joker, Avarro. Isn't he a funny one, children?" Obligingly they had laughed in the over-the-top way that all small things have, and the teacher had finally come back at that point, signaling an end to the visit.

Lucy had used the excuse of her pending meeting with the Ettins to ride back to the Cair very quickly, minimizing the amount of time spent with Avarro. Which was good, since every time he looked at her, with that odd teasing smile on his face, she blushed in confusion again. But it wasn't a happy confusion, like when Peter surprised her with the _Splendor Hyaline_.

Was it just because no one had ever wanted to kiss her before? But wasn't someone wanting to kiss you a good thing?

She wasn't sure what column to put those points in, and wished Susan were here to talk it over.

Everyone fawned over Susan; surely someone had tried to kiss her? She would know how to handle this. She always seemed to know how to handle everything. Especially things that related to being a girl.

Perhaps this all just took getting used to; she'd be fifteen soon, so this really oughtn't to be such a shock, right? Other fifteen year olds didn't walk around looking as confused as Lucy presently felt. And she was a ruler; shouldn't dignity and poise come into this equation too?

But she felt very undignified and lacking in poise, and oh, Aslan, her head _hurt_ …

"Lucy," a warm voice said, as though her name had been repeated several times. A hand stroked her hair gently. "Lucy, what troubles you?"

She hadn't realized she'd brought her knees up and had rested her head against them while she was thinking. She raised her head, a little startled, to look into the dark, concerned face of Orieus, who was kneeling beside her chair.

His face creased in deeper concern when she lifted her face. "Why do you cry, my Queen?"

"I—oh." She raised her hands to her cheeks, surprised to find them wet. "It's—" she hesitated.

If she just said 'Avarro tried to kiss me,' she knew what Orieus' response would be, even if she added 'as a joke.' She didn't particularly want Avarro to be missing limbs.

If she tried to explain—oh, the embarrassment! And what if everyone said her reaction was over the top? She'd get a reputation as a soft-hearted, over-sensitive ninny, and she already had enough trouble convincing some people that she wasn't a pushover just because she was young and a girl.

So she settled on the simplest truths. "It was a really long day, and my head does ache so." And as she said this, she realized that the headache had become really and truly painful, flashes of pain rippling across her head.

Concern eased into sympathy, and he kissed her on the forehead. "You should have said something before this, milady." He turned and spoke to the maid she hadn't realized was waiting by the door. "Kindly fetch a healer for Queen Lucy," he said, and the Vixen barked and darted away. Orieus turned back to Lucy, concern still in his eyes as he looked at her. "I will speak with Alissa about easing your schedule tomorrow."

"Oh, but I can't," she gasped, sitting upright. "I've got so much to do, with Peter and Su and Ed gone—" A bolt of even more intense pain flashed across her eyes. Orieus gave her a look, and she subsided sheepishly. It wouldn't do to be foolish. "Well, perhaps the morning at least," she allowed.

When she went to stand, the pain flashed across her head even more violently, and she meekly asked the worried Centaur, "Will you help me to my room?"

Gravely he stood and extended a strong arm to lift her to her feet. As they traversed the short distance to her bedroom door, he spoke again. "You are excused from weapons-training tomorrow. I wish you to rest, my Queen."

She mused that if Orieus were giving her time off training, she must look dreadful—and then flinched as another bolt of pain seared her head.

Well, she felt dreadful, so it was only fair.

Twenty minutes later, she'd been hovered over and cosseted as rarely before in her life, with cool cloths for her head and heavy curtains drawn to keep out the light. She was made to drink a bitter tea that made the pain fade considerably, and extra-soft pillows to cushion her head were brought.

Perhaps a morning off wouldn't be amiss. And perhaps a good night's rest would help her sort out this whole Avarro mess.

 _Aslan, let me understand,_ she prayed, and then finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

She slept late the next day and woke with her head feeling better, but her heart was still troubled. For a few minutes after she woke up, she stared blankly at the painted ceiling, wishing for the first time, ever, that she didn't have to get up. Didn't have to face her day. Didn't have to face her duties.

After a short while, she realized her eyes had been traveling over the same figure in the fresco: the Lion, ancient eyes gazing benevolently down on her.

She smiled a little wryly. "I suppose sometimes... you need to be courageous in facing the little things as well as the big ones." She said aloud to the ceiling, and felt a little better with the reminder that Someone was watching over her.

She wondered briefly what Aslan would make of Avarro. Somehow she didn't think He would put the spoilt Telmarine at the top of his Most Favored list.

Sighing a little, she swung her legs over the high edge of the bed and hopped down to get dressed.

Simple clothing today, she decided, not wishing to call maids away from their tasks. Undoubtedly their routine had already been massively disrupted with _her_ departure from her regular schedule. Lucy wasn't going to add to it.

There was a soft tap at the door as she finished lacing the front of a pale green velvet gown. "Come in," she called, and one of the palace pages, a bright-eyed Mouse, entered with a small salver.

"Good morning, Your Majesty!" the Mouse piped. "I hope you're feeling better?"

"I am, thank you." Lucy replied.

"Good! I have a message for you," the Mouse said, and offered up the salver.

There was a little piece of paper on it, and Lucy picked it up curiously.

Perhaps it was an apology from Avarro. She considered that and rolled her eyes at herself. Probably not. Who, then?

An involuntary smile came across her face.

 _Most Gracious Majesty Queen Lucy,_

 _I was most distressed to hear of your indisposition, and am in high hopes that the Healers have offered you some relief from your illness. I was saddened at having to miss you during arms practice this morning._

 _If you are feeling better, might I interest you in a light meal with quiet music and easy conversation? I've finished one of the books you recommended to me, and would love the chance to discuss it with you._

 _I have promised both General Orieus and the chief Healers to not overtax you. If, of course, you are still feeling unwell, I shall take no offence, and will simply consider our discussion temporarily postponed._

 _(Though I do hope you are feeling better!)_

 _Yours most faithfully,_

 _Lord Rorin of Archenland_

She felt a real smile cross her face and hurried to her escritoire to write a brief acceptance of the thoughtful offer. It sounded just the thing.

Now if she could only keep Avarro from spoiling it...

At the thought of the Telmarine boy, she felt her temper rising. Apparently she was not yet prepared to forgive him.

Putting him out of her mind, she handed the Mouse her note. "Kindly take this reply to Lord Rorin, and if you see Alissa, ask her to come by."

"No need to find her, Your Majesty." The Mouse darted out the door, and Lucy could hear his voice pipe, "She's up!"

The door had hardly closed behind his tail when a knock sounded. "Come in," Lucy called, sifting through a drawer for a hair-ribbon.

Alissa sailed in the room, leading a couple of the Badgers who worked in the kitchens. They bore silver trays of cereal grains and sweet fruits; Alissa carried a ewer of water and a small steaming teapot. They had a little table set with Lucy's breakfast in nearly the time it took for her to cross her suite.

"Why, what's this?" She exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

"We hoped you'd be hungry," one of the Badgers explained, and the other thrust his snuffling snout into her palm—the Badger equivalent of a hug.

"We were worried about you, when you didn't come for dinner," the second Badger replied. "But I'm quite happy you look like you're feeling better, Queen Lucy."

"I am feeling better, mostly due to everyone's thoughtfulness and kindness," Lucy said, smiling at them.

Their broad faces crinkled with the Badger version of a blush.

"And," Lucy continued, seating herself and shaking out her napkin, "this breakfast looks just the thing to complete a cure. My deepest thanks to you and all the kitchen staff, friends."

"Our pleasure, Queen Lucy!" the pair assured her, and shuffled back to the kitchens.

Alissa sat down opposite Lucy, her expression amused.

"Your lack of attendance at dinner last night caused a stir," she said.

"Oh, I didn't mean to—" Lucy began anxiously.

"So I think you should skip Court dinners more often." the Dryad continued, surprising Lucy.

"What?"

"You were overstressed yesterday, and I must deeply beg your pardon, my queen, for not recognizing it."

"Oh, it was a... specific thing that pushed me over the tipping point," Lucy began, but Alissa waved her off.

"There may have been the 'leaf that burst the dam,' but I should have been more mindful of not allowing you to take on so many tasks that you could _get_ to the point one thing caused you to become unwell." She cocked her head. "I frequently forget how young you are."

"I'll be fifteen in two months," Lucy pointed out, eating her cereal.

"And, being fifteen, you have no appreciation for how young you are. Most other girls your age are concerned only with their schoolbooks or their beaux. Not running a country."

Lucy shrugged and swallowed her bite. "Well, there's no one else to do it just now, so that's that."

"Nevertheless I will see to it that your schedule is lightened somewhat."

"So long as nothing important gets skipped," Lucy warned. "But what does that have to do with my eating dinner in the Hall or not?"

"Your absence last night caused _such_ a stir, I realized that you are, perhaps, a bit _too_ accessible to your people. There was nearly a panic."

"But I like to be available."

"I know, but consider this: just now, there's no time for _you_ in your day. While your royal siblings are at the Cair, the burden of being the monarch is... hmm, spread out."

"And of course, I have Peter and Su and Ed to lean on if I need to," Lucy said, starting to understand Alissa's point.

"Yes! But for now at least, you have no regular escape to calm down from the day's events. So perhaps simply taking the dinner hours for yourself now and again might be an answer? You could still eat in the Great Hall if you'd like, of course, but if you choose to eat in your rooms, it shouldn't cause a panic."

"No, it really shouldn't." Lucy agreed, and smiled. "All right. If it'll make you feel better, I'll start taking the occasional meal away from all the crowds and sound of the Great Hall." She had to admit, the busy-ness and bustle of the Hall during meals could be a bit... relentless. The idea of a space of calm at the end of her day sounded like a lovely idea.

If she didn't like it, or found it lonely, she could always go down to the Hall anyway.

"And, so you know I'm not trying to pretend I wasn't unwell last night, I'm having a light, quiet tea with Lord Rorin this afternoon. I really do need to review the law court judgements this afternoon. What else is pressing?"

Alissa consulted her notes. "There's not much until the day after tomorrow. A new musical quintet would like to play for you this evening—they're hoping to be invited to play at the Queen Susan's Arts Feast. Avarro has asked—"

"No," popped out of Lucy's mouth, almost reflexively. Alissa eyed her curiously: Lucy rarely interrupted.

Lucy gave her a wry smile. "The 'leaf that burst the dam'?" She said. "Avarro was a heavy leaf yesterday." She mentally snorted. _Avarro was the whole darn tree branch coming down._

"Ah," Alissa said, and drew a line through something on her paper, then added a note. "Well, then. General Orieus would like to see you for a time today, and we are expecting the usual letter from Queen Susan. That's all."

The light schedule sounded wonderful. "Thank you, Alissa. And thank you for your care of me."

The Dryad's face darkened slightly. "I only wish I'd been better aware of it to _prevent_ your feeling unwell."

"No, really. You do a fantastic job, and I truly appreciate all you do."

The Dryad's face brightened a bit at the note of honesty in her voice, and she ducked her head. "Very well. Accept my thanks, my queen. I shall leave you to your breakfast."

Lucy nodded, her mouth full again, and was soon sitting alone in the quiet of her room.

She closed her eyes a moment, savoring the silence, and opened them to find herself gazing at the Lion gilded on the back of her door. "Aslan, I really hope I am doing what You want of me," she said. "I hope I'm not shirking my duties by taking time for myself. I can't really think how you'd answer, if you were here and I'd ask. Would you say that it's the burden of the ruler to take more weight on her shoulders than others do? Or would you say that taking care of myself is just as important?" She shook her head. "I know better than to ask for any sort of _proof_. Your power is far too vast to be used for trifles. But I wish I knew what you'd tell me to do." She sighed, and reached for her drink.

She poured herself some tea, and pulled the dish of fruit closer to herself. The motion shifted the contents, and a flat slice of apple, that had been perched atop the bits of pear and grapes and other things, split in half. She blinked at the gap, a sudden memory of one of the most significant days in her life suddenly leaping to mind, and she laughed.

"I guess you might tell me it's all right to play a while, like you played with Susan and I that wonderful morning. But then we got to work, and we woke the Stone Animals and the Trees and then joined in the battle to defeat the White Witch. So. It's all right to play, so long as you _do_ get what needs to be done, done?"

She received no answer, but would have sworn the gilded Lion gleamed a little brighter. In any event she felt much better, and now had a luncheon with a good friend to look forward to. After that, more work—but she felt far readier to tackle it, now.

* * *

So, things are starting to pile up on poor Lucy. Wonder what she's going to do about Avarro though? ; )


	8. Changes

Golden Narnia 8: Changes

* * *

The luncheon with Rorin was as nice as Lucy could have wished. Rorin seemed genuinely interested in the book that Lucy had recommended, but argued some points of the book with her vigorously.

Lucy found it terrifically engaging and a wonderful distraction from her daily tasks. She said as much at the end of their luncheon, and Rorin looked pleased.

"In that case, Majesty, could I be so bold as to suggest we meet to discuss books more regularly? Perhaps we could invite others who'd be interested, too. Mr Tumnus, for instance."

"And Greyrock!" Lucy agreed, smiling. "I'll look forward to our next meeting, then."

"I as well," Rorin said, and left her to her law court reviews.

At the end of the day, when she was brushing out her hair, Lucy realized she hadn't seen Avarro at all. While she was his friend, and still liked him well enough, she had to admit the day without dealing with his petulance had been restful.

Perhaps Alissa was right: She needed to take time for herself more, especially when she was the only Pevensie at Cair Paravel.

The next couple of weeks went by far more smoothly. Lucy limited her dinners in the Great Hall, allowed Alissa to schedule her more frequent breaks, and she positively wallowed in the once-weekly book discussion meetings. The discussions had spiraled out to include not only Greyrock and Mr Tumnus, but Sar (one of the Archenlander ladies), Luelle (Lord Peridan's wife), and Shoshana, one of Alissa's sisters.

She found the thoughts sparked during the discussions made her more thoughtful in other aspects of her life, too. Barnabas commented on it when assessing her latest argument in her Politics tutoring session.

"You are seeing more layers beneath the surface," he said approvingly. "Your brother Edmund has the natural gift for it, but I'm pleased you're beginning to see them for yourself."

Lucy nodded. "I think it's because in our book discussions we all take turns telling our point of view of things, but also _why_ we have that point of view. It's made me more sensitive to others' viewpoints, I think."

"A good tool for a monarch to have," Barnabas smiled.

During these weeks, Lucy spent a small amount of time with Avarro, but only among other people, hoping that would prevent her from shouting at him over his behavior at the school. So far, this plan was working—she hadn't gone off on Avarro—and she thought her temper might be cooling somewhat. They went on a couple of horseback rides, and on a hunt with the Court, and a few other things. Lucy ignored his sulky looks and when she didn't cave into his pouting, Avarro seemed to finally accept it and behave more normally.

Lucy was relieved.

Letters came from her siblings: reports on the werewolf situation from Peter and Edmund (they were finally close to getting the last one in the area, they thought); an update from Susan on the situation in Archenland.

While Susan had made great friends with little Prince Corin, she reported that he was quite the rambunctious little boy. Small wonder that Queen Ramilka was little able to keep up her strength, with a child whose response to _any_ check in his plans seemed to be 'fight him.' It didn't seem to matter that none of the prince's plans were ever thought out; 'fight' was still Corin's response.

Susan was doing what she could to curb this impulse.

"Shalt have to wait to see if her gentleness can dampen Prince Corin's rampageousness," Lucy commented, amused. She and Rorin were having another luncheon together, away from the madness of the Court (there was a fire-eater performing tonight, and everyone seemed to think they needed to claim their seats _hours_ in advance).

"Prince Corin always has been known to be a feisty child," Rorin said. "I do hope as he grows he will learn restraint. One of these days he's going to volunteer to fight someone who won't care if he gives the Crown Prince a black eye."

"From what Susan says, that might be just what Corin needs."

"Mayhap. Time will tell, I suppose. Now, back to what you were saying about _The Jade Man,"_ Rorin said, pointing his fork at her in mock exasperation. "I just cannot see how you have _any_ sympathy for Cincilla at the end."

"Thou blamest the poor girl for being besotted?" Lucy protested. "Elric never gave her the chance to think aught ill of him."

"He did take advantage of her naivete," Rorin admitted, "but her friend warned her most direly about his real nature, and she didn't listen!"

"But don't you think Cincilla probably thought her friend was exaggerating? Lili _had_ been courted by Elric, after all. It would be natural for Cincilla to assume Lili was jealous."

"Well, there's another thing," Rorin complained. "If Cincilla and Lili art such great friends, how could Cincilla even give Elric the time of day? He'd nearly broken Lili's heart."

"Ah, there, I think—" Lucy broke off as a faun tapped at the doorway of the little courtyard she and Rorin were sitting in. She and Rorin turned in his direction. "Yes?"

The faun trotted forward. "Sorry to interrupt, your majesty, but this letter just came from Queen Susan, and it's marked 'urgent.' "

"What?" Lucy's eyes widened. Susan had _never_ sent a letter marked 'urgent' before. Lucy took the letter and tore it open.

A few seconds in, she gasped slightly, putting her hand to her mouth. She paled visibly, so quickly that Rorin put out a hand to steady her.

"Queen Lucy?" he asked anxiously. "Is all well with thee?"

"Oh, no." Lucy murmured, her eyes filling with sudden tears.

They spilled over her cheeks as she lifted her face from the letter. "Oh, no. Queen Ramilka of Archenland has... has died." She got out, with some difficulty. "Susan is..." she took a breath. "Queen Susan is staying for a time to help with arrangements, but most earnestly wishes for me to come, before the fall storms start. Oh, poor Susan. She and Ramilka were such friends. And poor little Corin!"

She found herself overcome by tears a moment. She felt a brush against her hand and looked up, surprised, to see a bashful Rorin offering her his handkerchief. As she took it and dabbed her face, he stood and bowed.

"Shalt excuse myself, Queen Lucy. My cousins and fellow Archenlanders will be better served if this news comes from a friend."

"Oh—oh, I'm so sorry, Rorin, I wasn't thinking—" Lucy gasped, dismayed at her thoughtlessness in blurting out the news in front of one who, after all, was one of Ramilka's subjects. This news had to be painful to hear.

Rorin took the liberty of squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Nay, Queen Lucy. Thou spoke out of your own shock and loss, which comes from thy generous heart. I know you feel her loss as keenly as we do. But I shall leave thee to thy thoughts, now. I will seek out Alissa or General Orieus and send them to you—" he offered, but Lucy waved this off.

"Nonsense. Do you go see to your fellow countrymen, and let Us know if there is _anything_ you need. Anything at all. We will make plans for traveling to Anvard as soon as it may be done."

"I shall let the others know. My sincerest thanks, Your Majesty," he replied simply, bowed, and took off down the halls of Cair Paravel.

Lucy sat a moment to compose herself, then set off in search of Alissa. She had work to do.

* * *

By early evening, Cair Paravel was bustling. Touches of black had been added to décor, public announcements of Archenland's loss had been made, and an express dispatch had been sent to Peter and Edmund.

Lucy had set aside one of the Royal Parlors for the Archenlanders to gather in privacy, and Alissa was organizing the packing-up of funeral clothes and all the trappings necessary for a visit of condolence.

The Ettins had, fortunately, heard the news and tactfully mentioned they were planning to return home for a while anyway, to discuss matters. They said they'd contact Narnia about those mining permits at a later time, probably the spring.

Lucy was glad that _one_ difficulty, at least, had removed itself from her path.

Especially as there was another firmly in her way: Avarro.

"...can you _believe_ it, Alissa?" Lucy fumed, exasperated, as she flung black and dark clothing toward her luggage. "He interrupts me when it's apparent I'm _very_ busy—with today's news, he should have _known_ I'd be very busy—and whines about how I've hardly spoken to him since—" She broke off, flushing.

"Since what, Your Majesty?" She eyed the young queen. Lucy had not quite been herself, since that evening she'd fallen ill, and the Dryad was watchful for a repeat. Alissa paused in her retrieval of hastily flung garments, which she was pointedly folding before placing them in the suitcase.

Lucy flushed deeper, went to the maltreated clothes, and began folding them herself. "I apologize. I was allowing my temper to get the better of me."

"It has been a trying day," Alissa said, but she looked mollified at the apology. "You were saying?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter now. I'm just astonished at how— _oblivious_ Avarro could be to all that's going on!"

"Perhaps this is a good opportunity to send him back home?" Alissa suggested hopefully. She'd never liked Avarro. "We will be in mourning for Queen Ramilka for a few months."

Lucy pursed her lips. "That _is_ a good point. But we'd need the High King to make the overture to King Henrick," she sighed. "Since Peter is the one whose favor technically keeps Avarro here."

"I don't think anyone would object if you usurped that _one_ aspect of King Peter's power," Alissa suggested dryly.

Lucy shook her head. "No, I really can't, in good conscience. He was placed as High King over all Narnian monarchs, after all. I couldn't, unless—Aslan forbid—something happened to actually incapacitate Peter, Su, _and_ Ed. Peter's absence doesn't mean _all_ of his powers fall to me. But I shall press him on it as soon as I am able." The thought of not dealing with Avarro for a few months sounded rather nice. She still liked Avarro, and considered him her friend, but lately he'd been... well, exhausting. His deciding to behave himself the last couple of weeks notwithstanding.

And she was still confused about the whole incident—had it only been a couple of weeks ago? She still needed to resolve her vague anger, too. She wasn't even sure what she was angry _about_.

Never mind. She had far more important things to deal with at the moment.

For one thing, she had to decide who ought to accompany her to Archenland, and who should stay. There were several nobles whose absence would constitute an insult, but on the other hand, Lucy had to leave _some_ people here. She would also have to dig through Peter's notes to see whom he had selected as Regent in the absence of the Four.

Though all four of them had never been away from the Cair for more than a day or two at a time, a longer absence was bound to happen at some point. Lucy knew her brother would have considered the matter.

It wouldn't be Mr Tumnus, she knew. He was a dear, but tended to anxiousness when in charge of extremely large groups. His talents were much better suited to being part of the entourage going to Archenland.

Orieus would go with her, too, Lucy knew; his second-in-command was extremely capable, and the period in charge of Narnia's defenses would be good for his growth.

Perhaps Barnabas? He was not much for traveling, and was as shrewd a politician as any, and could easily hold off importunances from other countries until Peter, Susan, Edmund, or Lucy herself returned to the Cair. Or perhaps Silene, who was on the Council. She was wise, and had a lulling way of speaking that had her listeners walking away thinking they'd won—until they considered the actual content of their conversation with her. She was also a champion chess player.

As she finished her packing and Alissa bustled off to see to more things on the list, these thoughts kept Lucy's mind busy so she didn't end up blubbing into her pillow.

Ramilka, gone to Aslan's Country! Ramilka had been wonderful to Lucy and Susan. She and King Lune had been among the first of the royal visitors to the Cair, and she'd spent a couple of weeks teaching Susan and Lucy how royal ladies managed their houses, and dresses, and all the other things that came with being a Queen.

That had all been before the twins' birth, which Lucy and Susan had attended, and before the disastrous loss of Prince Cor. After that terrible incident, Susan had stayed with Ramilka, as she grieved the loss of her son and her trusted courtier's betrayal.

As sorrowful as Lucy was, she knew Susan's grief would be even greater, as she and Ramilka had been very close.

At the thought, her eyes welled again, and she bit her lip and inhaled through her nose, trying to not start crying. A soft tap came at the door.

"Come in," she said thickly, quickly wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.

Orieus entered, a black armband already cascading from his bulging bicep. He came and stood soberly in front of her. "Queen Lucy..." he said. "I... I do not have words for you right now, but I think you should not be alone with your sorrow. Through grief must come to us all, we are made to help one another through it. Your family is far away, and..." he stopped. "Well, I am here."

"Oh, Orieus," Lucy said, on a slight hiccup. "It's so awful."

His strong arms came around her in a comforting hug, and Lucy hugged him back tightly, finally letting some real tears fall.

Curiously, after letting even a few sobs out, she felt much better.

"I know, Queen Lucy," Orieus said, and stroked her hair comfortingly. "While we rejoice that she has crossed to Aslan's Country, I do not think He begrudges us our time of grieving."

"He doesn't," Lucy said without thinking, and pulled away, a little startled at the sudden memory. "He even had sorrow for all those awful people and—and _Things—_ when the White Witch had him shorn and beaten. I can't think sorrow for a _good_ person is wrong."

"It is not," Orieus assured her. "But I do not think I ever heard that part of the tale."

"Really? I suppose because it's so terribly sad, I never want to think of the details," Lucy mused, sitting down in a chair.

Orieus settled on a cushioned bench and assumed an attitude of listening. "Are they so very awful?"

"It was bad enough at the time, but I think I'm glad I was so young when I saw it," Lucy replied. "I didn't fully comprehend what I was seeing until a few years later. I don't know how Susan stood it."

"Perhaps it accounts for how very tenderhearted she is now," Orieus suggested.

"Oh! I'd never thought of that. It's very likely. Well, after the White Witch had Aslan tied..." Lucy began. As she told the tale, she realized that it had one thing in common with many other stories: just when things seemed hopeless and darkest, something happened to turn things right again.

It wasn't usually as dramatic as the Great Lion leaping to life in the glorious dawn sun, but it was there.

They'd been sent away from Mum and Dad by that beastly War, but had ended up walking into Narnia. They'd been chased all over Narnia by the White Witch, but had become victorious rulers. Lucy had been left on her own to rule, but had discovered great support among her friends. They'd all get through this sad time, too.

* * *

The day set for her departure to Archenland dawned cool and wet. Lucy frowned as she looked out her window at the softly falling rain, hoping it wouldn't render any of the roads impassible. Shrugging to herself, she finished eating and dressed in some of her sturdier gear instead of a dress. She could change clothes when she arrived in Archenland, but the day and a half long trip would be easier in a riding outfit.

She ate in the hall with the others, and caught up with Alissa and Silene (who was, indeed, Peter's choice for Regent) to ensure all contingencies had been thought of. They were standing in the doorway looking over the last items on the list when a Stag bounded through the curtain wall and came toward them.

"Queen Lucy!" he called, coming closer.

"Good morning, friend." Lucy greeted him. "Catch your breath. What need do you have of me?"

"I bear a message from the High King and King Edmund," the Stag said. "They bid you to wait their arrival, which should be only a couple of hours hence. They finished the last of the pack of Werewolves yesterday, and they are hastening to the Cair as we speak."

At the news, Lucy felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders. Peter and Ed were back! Well, almost. She wouldn't have to do everything alone anymore.

She thanked the Stag and she, Alissa, and Silene began revising the plans.

She had hot baths drawn up for her brothers, and a quick meal prepared. Maids went through their suites and gave them a quick touch-up. Despite the sad news of a few days before, and despite the fact that they all were leaving shortly, the whole mood of the Cair lifted. Things just weren't _right_ with most of the Pevensies gone.

Just as Lucy was heading down the stairs to greet her brothers, Avarro intercepted her.

"Are you really leaving me here?" He demanded, with no greeting.

Lucy eyed him. "We're going to a _funeral_ of a friend," she said. "Only people who need to pay their respects are going."

"But how long will you be gone? I haven't got to spend any time with you lately."

Was he whining? She resisted the urge to slap him. "I don't know how long. We might be back in a couple of days, or I might stay there for weeks. It depends on what King Lune needs."

"But—" He reached for her, but she twitched her arm out of his reach.

A fanfare from outside could be heard. Lucy hurried toward the Great Hall. "That's Peter and Ed. I have to go!" She hurried away and secretly hoped he didn't follow.

He didn't, so it was a nice, quiet, small group that greeted the returning Kings.

They'd pushed themselves to get back as soon as possible, and the whole group was so uniformly dust covered that it took Lucy a moment to pick Peter's golden head out from among the others. Ed's dark head was just behind his brother's as they wove through the crowd. The three siblings greeted another effusively.

Lucy said, "I've got baths waiting for you all, and food when you're finished. Everything else is ready to go to Anvard, when you are. It should only take us a day and a half, and I've sent ahead for a place to camp along the road. King Lune's steward knows to watch for our arrival early tomorrow afternoon, too."

Peter looked impressed. "Your organizational skills have certainly improved since we've been gone."

"Oh, not all that much," Lucy said, but was pleased by the praise.

"I suppose you're not so much the pesky little sister," Edmund joked, and scooted backward at Lucy's swat. "Just being honest!"

"It's great, Lu. We'll see you here in an hour?"

"That's fine," she said, and shooed them toward the Cair.

Peter and Edmund were home—and soon they'd reunite with Susan. With the four of them together, even the prospect of attending a funeral and helping a grieving King Lune sounded less dire than it had this morning. While they couldn't make Queen Ramilka return to life, they could help King Lune and Archenland begin to recover, Lucy was sure of it.

* * *

As always, reviews and comments are appreciated!


	9. Traveling to Anvard

Chapter 9

When the party from Narnia finally set off on their sad journey toward Archenland, Lucy found herself chivvied into riding in one of the carriages. Ostensibly this was so she could offer some comfort to the Archenlander ladies, but from the looks she caught Alissa and Orieus exchanging, it was really so she could ride in the highest amount of comfort.

She struggled to hide her indignation as she settled into the plush cushions. She wasn't some sensitive thing who couldn't hold up to a day's riding! But to openly argue might hurt the Archenlanders' feelings at this delicate time.

Lord Aubrey was soon softly snoring in the opposite corner to the one in which Lucy sat. Lady Dia settled into some knitting in the seat down the cushions from Lucy, and Lady Melanta, opposite Lucy, looked contemplative.

Lady Melanta watched the young queen's face as the whole party rolled into motion.

"Thou art loved by thy people, Queen Lucy," she said, after they'd been underway for a while. "They wish to see thee well." Her mellow voice was quiet, and their conversation was nearly drowned out by all the noise of travel.

Lucy's expression shifted to one of chagrin. "Is my irritation that obvious?" She glanced to the side, but Dia gave no indication she was even aware a conversation was taking place.

"No," Melanta said, "it isn't, really. I've got to know thee, a little, these happy months in Narnia, and I know your active nature. And having just lost a young Queen, I canst understand our neighbors' reluctance to allow their own young Queen to suffer strain. Particularly as thou wert recently ill."

"But I'm never ill!" Lucy protested. "Why should one illness mean everyone tries to treat me like—like spun glass?"

"Precisely because it _is_ so unusual for you to be, or even admit to, illness," Melanta said gently. "Queen Ramilka, rest her soul, was so often ill that it elicited no great comment. _You_ , on the other hand…"

"Ah," Lucy said, seeing it.

"Add to this you have been the only Monarch around for quite some time, I think you can forgive thy attendants a little overprotectiveness."

"I suppose so. But why are we talking about me?" Lucy said, leaning forward. "Surely thy own grief…"

Melanta smiled sadly. "Honestly? I have been waiting for Queen Ramilka's grief to consume her these past two years. While her death is sad to me, 'tis not such a shock. Following the loss of Prince Cor, she simply never recovered to real life.

"Which is a shame," she continued, "considering she had a loving husband, who did suffer an equal loss, and another son in sore need of a mother. I do not begrudge her her grief, but I do wish she'd been able to heal enough to discover that her new life without Prince Cor in it was not absolutely terrible. Sad, certainly, but not… unlivable, as she seemed to think."

"I am not a mother," Lucy answered. "I don't know. Is losing a child that all-consuming? More painful than other losses?"

"It is…" Melanta sighed, "it is a _different_ kind of loss, yes, but like all other losses, it can be worked through, lived through. It is painful, and because it is the loss of that child's whole potential life, it crops up perhaps more frequently than other griefs.

"An elder, well, you can point to the things she accomplished in life to comfort you. With a child, carried under one's heart for weeks or months, all of those infinite possibilities are dashed."

Lucy realized Melanta was no longer speaking of Prince Cor, and her expression became regretful at the turn the conversation had taken.

Melanta smiled slightly. "Do not fret, Your Majesty. I carried two babes in the womb before being blessed with my three healthy children. One breathed only an hour, and the other was too small for even that, before going to Aslan's Country, so I have a little insight into Queen Ramilka's pain.

"I also," she added, before Lucy could speak, "therefore have a little less patience for her wallowing in her grief for years. Queen Ramilka was tender and soft, and did not like dealing with difficult things. But if she had, she might yet be with us. Oh—"

Lucy offered her a handkerchief for the tears that fell down her face. Somewhat harsh though her words were, Lucy sensed that Melanta genuinely did grieve for Ramilka, whatever her opinion of the queen. It was certainly possible to really like someone but not like what they _did—_ just look at herself and Avarro, for example.

And Lucy supposed that it was all right she'd been carefully pushed into riding in the carriage instead of on horseback with Ed and Peter.

Obviously, she was needed here.

When the van had travelled about three-quarters of the way to the night's campsite, Peter finally decided Orieus was avoiding him, though he couldn't think why.

Since the Centaur was not by any stretch of the imagination a coward, this raised certain suspicions in Peter's mind.

He caught Edmund's eye and gave him a look that his younger brother had no trouble interpreting, after so many weeks hunting Weres in the woods together. Edmund nodded slightly and peeled off of the main group, heading toward the rear of the line. A while later, he returned, shaking his head slightly. _Not back there._ Peter narrowed his eyes and scanned the group ahead. Nothing.

The slight peep of a whistle from Edmund had him glancing his brother's way. Edmund jerked his chin to the left.

Peter followed his gaze—yes—there! The Centaur was pacing the group, but a little ways off in the trees.

This time, Peter and Edmund both left the line and using the stealth they'd honed in the woods, crept up on the general.

Who was, naturally, waiting for them, his swishing tail the only sign of his unease.

"What can I do for you, Sires?" The bass voice rumbled.

"What's toward?" Edmund asked suspiciously. "Thou usually hast us talk our heads off after returning from a mission."

"This one has lasted weeks," Peter added. "You can't expect us to believe thy questioning and analysis would be _shorter._ "

"I have not had the opportunity to peruse your most recent notes from the field," Orieus said, his gaze shifting.

Peter's blue gaze narrowed. That was as close to prevarication as he'd ever heard from the general, and a detail from their moving out earlier in the day suddenly snapped into place.

"What's wrong with Lucy?"

Ed turned to look at him, puzzled, but a look at the Centaur's downcast expression confirmed Peter's suspicions.

"Well?"

One hoof stamped, uneasy. "Nothing is wrong… now," he admitted.

"What, then?" Edmund asked. "Was she upset we were so long on this task? We _did_ leave her for a while."

"No," Orieus said. "Not exactly." He related his and Alissa's concerns about Lucy's overworking herself, and her near-collapse a few weeks earlier.

Both young men exclaimed in dismay. "She never wrote a line of this!" Peter said. "Not a word!"

"And why would she, Your Majesty?" Orieus rumbled. "She is not a complainer, nor would she wish to worry you."

"But what would have caused it?" Edmund puzzled. "I can see her taking on so many duties she'd be tired but not… not falling to pieces over it. It's just not _Lucy_."

"This is why Alissa and I were so concerned, and insisted she ride in the carriage today," Orieus admitted. "She has not quite been herself since that night."

"Well, who's new that might have—" Peter started to wonder, and his brow darkened. "The Archenlanders are all new. One of them wasn't, I don't know, demanding or anything?"

"To the contrary, Lord Rorin has been Aslan-sent, giving the Queen a welcome excuse to take leisure moments, and distracting her from stresses."

"Lord Rorin? Who is Lord Rorin?" Peter demanded.

"The Queen Lucy's friend," Orieus stated firmly. "And a good one."

"Come off it, Pete," Edmund interjected. "Lucy _did_ write us about him. They read books together, remember?"

"Ah. Right." Peter relaxed slightly, but fixed the general in his gaze. "So what is thy theory as to what ailest the Queen Lucy?"

"We know not." Orieus said, frustration obvious. "She only confessed to me as to her head hurting—and it did, most assuredly. To Alissa she only made a vague statement about a leaf bursting a dam; the only person she even _mentioned_ was her friend Avarro.

"Neither Alissa nor I could find anyone to say he has reverted to his previously poor behaviors, but nor have we found anyone else who may have been demanding on the Queen's patience, so…" He shrugged expansively. "We know not." He repeated.

"Perhaps we can get it out of her," Peter said, worry in his eyes. "So thou'rt saying I wasn't imagining she seemed tired?"

"Nay, thou were not. Though she is better than she had been," Orieus said.

"Nevertheless," Edmund said, "We can do what we can to alleviate the strain on her."

"Our being back will do a lot of that, on its own," Peter said. "But I know thou hast something else in mind brother; you have that plotting look on thy face."

"Plotting look?" Edmund sputtered. "I have no plotting look."

"Yes, you do," both Peter and Orieus said, and smiled at Edmund's indignation.

"In any case," Edmund drew himself up, dignified. "I think we should make arrangements to send Avarro back to Telmar before we return from Archenland."

"Indeed? You have been wishing him gone some time, I know," Peter said.

"And I agree with His Majesty on this," Orieus said. "The young man has stayed and stayed. His new manners seem firm. Time he went home to test them." At Peter's sidelong glance, he added, "I have liked him little better than King Edmund, sire, and for similar reason. His sly looks disturb me." He punctuated the statement with a swish of his tail and a stamp of his back hoof.

"Very well," Peter agreed. "I'll write King Henrick tomorrow. By the time we return from Anvard, Cair Paravel will be Avarro-free."

All three nodded, satisfied, and hurried to catch up with the caravan.

When they made camp that night, Edmund and Peter swooped in and snared Lucy for a private dinner in Peter's tent, so they could all relax and catch up. At one point, Peter casually mentioned that he thought it was a good opportunity to send Avarro back to his home.

"After all," he said, "We do not know how long we will bide in Anvard, and it is hardly fair to trap the young man in a castle empty of everyone he knows." He did not miss the flash of relief that crossed Lucy's face. A nudge from Edmund confirmed that Ed had seen it, too.

Peter drafted his letter that night.

The next day they rode in to Anvard, to the beat of muffled drums, their carriages and horses draped in black.

They gave their Archenlander guests the place of honor as they rode into the great gates of Anvard, so that King Lune should see the faces of his mourning countrymen first upon coming out to welcome them.

It was a welcome surprise, from the look on King Lune's face. As he stood at the top of the staircase leading up to the castle's Great Hall, his face was stiff with stoicism.

When the Narnian flagbearer stepped aside to reveal Lord Aubrey and Lady Melanta, the lines of his face softened in gratitude.

The heralds announced the arrival of Their Majesties, High King Peter, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy of Narnia, and the Narnian flag was run up, but the ceremonial aspects of their arrival were kept mercifully short.

As soon as they could, the Pevensies excused themselves and went to find Susan.

She found them first, coming around a corner, calling, "Corin, where hast—" She broke off in a gasp, seeing them, and then all but ran down the hall to collide with her siblings in a tangle of heavy black skirts.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, oh, oh I am _glad_ thou'rt here at last. Hast been _so long._ " She wiped tears from her eyes—she still looked beautiful—and looked them all over.

"Peter," she said, "you need to cut your hair. Ed, stop slouching. Lu—"

She was interrupted by Peter's chuckle. "Well, you haven't changed, Su, have you? Come, let us go in and sit and talk a while."

Susan looked around. "I would, but I need to find that scamp, Prince Corin. You didn't see a little boy tearing past, did you?"

The other three, puzzled, shook their heads and glanced about the quiet, wide hallway. There weren't many places for a boy, no matter how small, to hide.

"It's just as well." Susan sighed. "If he'd crashed into one of you, wouldst have been cause for him to try to fight you."

"It... would?" Edmund asked, trying to figure that one out.

"Everything is cause for Prince Corin to fight," came a dry voice from behind them. They all turned. An older woman in a maid's gown and cap was there. She curtseyed.

"Do you go on, Your Majesties; I shall find Prince Corin and return him to the nursery. Aslan be praised if we get through laying his poor mother to rest without major incidents."

She muttered this last, so likely they were not supposed to have heard it. Lucy suppressed a smile, despite the circumstances.

"Thank you, Cara," Susan said gratefully, and led the way to the suite the Pevensies were staying in.

"That," she said over her shoulder, "was Cara, the chief nurserymaid, and probably the only person Corin reliably listens to. If she says she will track him down, she will."

"Corin doesn't listen to you?" Lucy asked curiously. "I thought everyone listens to you."

"Not, apparently, five year old boys," Susan said repressively. "At least, not consistently. Betimes he wishes to stay quite close, and others he wants nothing to do with me. Nonetheless I think I have been a help to him, and his poor parents."

"I'm sure you have," Edmund said warmly.

"Come, let us sit, and you may tell us all about your time here." Peter said, "and we can determine how best to support King Lune."

Despite the circumstances, each felt happier as they settled in, together once more.


	10. Making Arrangements

Hi all, hoping to keep moving along with this story. Please review & let me know what you think (good or bad!) it really helps me keep going!

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Golden Narnia 10: Making Arrangements

Once they'd had a chance to catch up and relax a little, Lucy turned to face Susan. "Now, Su, do tell us what to expect for the next while. Is there any way you can think of for us to support King Lune?"

"Well, officially, we are here to pay our respects to poor Ramilka…" Susan began.

"But surely as Archenland's closest allies, we can offer a bit more." Peter said.

Susan's eyes flashed with relief. "Well, yes. I didn't wish to burden thee with tasks immediately, but…"

Edmund leaned forward. "Out with it, Susan. What needs doing?"

Quite a lot, it seemed, with which King Lune's seneschal had obliquely not-quite-asked for Susan's help while Lune was distracted with grief.

For one, there were representatives from all the different powers arriving for the funeral; care would have to be taken to ensure old feuds didn't flare up—or new ones begin. There was also the quick organizing of the military honor guard for the funerary parade. The funeral arrangements themselves needed to be gone over and finalized, and all the various legal matters caused by the death of a Queen regnant really needed a keen eye to organize them for King Lune. He simply wasn't up to the minutiae, having loved his wife very dearly.

"And," Susan added, "wouldst someone could do _something_ with Price Corin so that his royal father can have time to grieve. Besides the initial moment of Ramilka's death, I think Lune has not yet had a moment to breathe, let alone mourn."

"Well, I can certainly see to the funerary parade and brushing up the troops," Peter said.

Edmund volunteered, "Verily am I best suited to sifting through the legal documents. I suppose there's a will for Queen Ramilka's family estates?"

Susan nodded. "Yes, she was very nearly the last of her line—but not quite—which doth make the situation a bit complicated."

"No fear. I shall handle it."

"Thou should handle the funeral itself, Su," Lucy said. "Besides Lune, I think you knew her best. And if he is not in a state to plan it…"

"He is not," Susan confirmed. "Very well. So—"

But Lucy wasn't done yet. "And I shall take on the greeting of all the political factions, and Prince Corin."

The others looked at her in surprise.

"I'm the only Royal whose presence in greeting wouldst _not_ cause some sort of incident _,_ " Lucy said. "If you, Peter, or you, Susan, greet the dignitaries, could be read as Narnia is taking over Archenland, since thou art the two eldest. And of course thou'rt High King, Peter. Edmund is known to be a warleader, so _he_ cannot. I'm the youngest, so no one will be expecting anything other than simplicity."

"It shouldn't need anything other than simplicity," Susan assured her.

"I _know_ ," Lucy replied. "But I have been running Narnia for almost two months, so if something not-simple is needed, I think I will be well able to manage it. If it's something I can't handle myself, I'll ask for help."

Susan blinked in surprise. "Oh," she said. "Are you really sure?"

"Would I have said so, if it weren't true?" Lucy answered, a little hotly. "I can handle it."

"All right, all right," Peter chuckled. "Peace. But whatever shall you do with Prince Corin?"

Lucy's mouth tightened a little. "I've had some recent experience dealing with stubborn persons. A little boy should pose no real problem."

At her siblings' doubtful looks, her temper flared. She may not be full grown, but she wasn't a _child_ any longer. When would they understand that?

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot. "Honestly. I can handle it."

"No, no, I'm sure you can," Susan assured her, apparently understanding they'd offended Lucy in some way. "It's just that… Prince Corin is such a very _active_ boy, you see."

"I can handle it," Lucy repeated, and stood. "Now am I going to make a start. There's a lot to be done."

She stood and swept out of the room, almost as regally as Susan could.

The other Pevensies exchanged looks. "What was that about?" Susan asked. Her brothers filled her in on the little they knew, and Susan frowned. "Tired? Irritated? Headachy? _That_ doesn't sound like Lucy."

"We know," Peter said, tugging at his short beard distractedly. "But Orieus does not exaggerate things, and he said she was nearly faint just from the headache."

"Mayhap it was only the strain of taking on all our duties," Edmund put in bracingly, though he didn't sound like he fully believed this himself.

Susan smiled, only a little forced. "I'm sure that's it. She's had to grow up a little, that's all."

"Yes, and we are only missing our littlest sister still being little, I'm sure." Peter confirmed.

Though even he didn't sound so certain.

* * *

Later, the others had to acknowledge that Lucy did seem to be handling her self-imposed duties well. She'd ingratiated herself with King Lune's seneschal, Lord Nen, immediately, simply by swooping in and sorting through the mountain of condolence letters which the man had been virtually buried under. She was wryly grateful for all the organizational practice she'd been getting over the past months alone in the Cair, as it made the task rather less onerous.

When she next started in on marking up the lists of dignitaries who were due to arrive the next morning, the man's expression indicated that, loyal Archenlander or no, he was Lucy's devoted servant from then on.

By the evening, between them they'd managed to sort out who was staying where for the next few days; the guests were arriving tomorrow. The state funeral itself was on the following day, with the funeral feast in the evening. The day after that, most guests should go back home. When she left him, Lord Nen was fretting over what allowances he should have to make for people who might have to stay longer.

Lucy was grateful the busy day was nearly over, and stifled a sigh as she found her way to the Royal Nursery. She really had to make arrangements with Corin's nurse to have him placed in her own care for the morrow. Hopefully, Prince Corin wouldn't really be as unmanageable as he was rumored to be. He was only _just_ turned five, after all.

She turned the corner to the nursery rooms and heard a crash and what sound like growls. Alarmed, she hurried to the door and pulled it open.

The room was not quite as chaotic as the sounds made it seem like they should be. There was a low chair tipped over in front of a child-sized table; a cup of milk was overturned and still dripping onto the thick carpet, while a dinner plate sat congealing on the table.

A couch in the middle of the room seemed to have been knocked slightly askew, and Lucy could see the nurserymaid from before—Cara?—bending to peer over its back. She looked exhausted, and Lucy wondered _how_ Corin still had so much energy, if he'd been running around all day.

The growling sound was emanating from behind the couch, and Lucy took a few quiet steps through the room to see that Prince Corin was lying face down behind the couch, grizzling into the carpet and pounding his little fists and feet against the soft surface.

Cara jumped a little when Lucy touched her elbow.

"Oh, Your Majesty," she said, and dropped a quick curtsy, "I can't do anything with the little Prince. He refuses to eat his supper, and now he's just wholly in a temper. He won't listen to a thing I say."

"Perhaps a new face might help here," Lucy said, and smiled reassuringly at the woman's worried face. "I doubt he remembers he, he was so little last I saw him. Go on and get your own meal, and take your ease for a while. I'll handle Prince Corin for now."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" the maid asked doubtfully.

"Quite sure," Lucy assured her, though as Corin hadn't showed any sign of stopping his tantrum, this was perhaps an overly optimistic statement.

Nevertheless, Cara allowed herself to be shooed away, reminding Lucy that there was an attendant nearby, and to please ring for her if there was need.

When the door closed behind her, Lucy pursed her lips and turned to survey the room. Prince Corin's feet were still thumping away behind the couch. Well, he'd come to no _more_ harm than anything he'd already done to himself back there.

So Lucy set about mopping up the spilled milk, and straightening the room up a little. She peeked around the couch: it looked like Corin was slowing down a little, but still pounding his fists and kicking his feet.

Perhaps she could use some of the patience she'd learned over the past months and outlast the boy.

At the very least, she'd give Cara a break.

Shrugging, she pulled a story book off of one of the shelves, settled herself onto a plush chair, and began to read. Surely she could outlast a just-turned-five-year-old.

By the fifth page, the thumping behind the couch had nearly stopped, and by page six, she heard the sounds of a child gasping his breath back. By page seven, a very disheveled head peeked around the end of the couch.

She made it to page eight before a petulant little voice said, in accusing tones, " _You're_ not Nurse Cara."

"No," agreed Lucy, without looking up. "I am not." And she kept reading.

She heard the little boy shuffle around a little, apparently disconcerted by her lack of interest in him.

The shuffling came closer, and Lucy peeked through her lashes quickly enough he didn't see her glance.

Corin's face was red and blotchy, and his nose had been running. His hair, which looked like it normally lay in neat little waves, was frayed out in all directions, and his clothing was terribly wrinkled. But he didn't look as though he were about to go off into another fit (though admittedly, Lucy's experience with small boys was rather limited).

After a moment, the shuffling sounds resulted in a warm little body sitting on the carpet in front of her chair.

"Um," came a voice. "Who _are_ you?"

Lucy lifted her head and finally looked directly at him. The boy looked tired, and little wonder. "I am Queen Lucy of Narnia."

"Oh." The boy considered this. His little brow wrinkled. "What are you doing here?"

"Right now, I'm reading a story." Lucy answered evenly. "It's quite a nice one. Would you like to see?"

"No." His lower lip poked out. "Stories are dumb."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that. I happen to think stories are lovely." Lucy went back to her book.

She heard Corin shift his weight from foot to foot for a moment. He walked over to the table, and poked at the cold food, but evidently it was not to his liking, because he returned.

"What's the story about?"

"Would you like to hear it?" She scooted aside in the chair.

He didn't answer, but climbed into the chair next to her.

Lucy turned back to the beginning, and began reading.

The story wasn't anything too special, being about a prince who went on a journey and encountered several funny characters before going home to dinner, so she was able to keep an eye on Corin.

As she read on, he sighed, and relaxed, and slowly, Corin's head drooped lower and lower until he was slouched against her side.

It looked like the little prince had finally exhausted himself.

When she'd read for long enough his breathing changed, she gently closed the book and carefully went to lift the little boy. He was heavier than he looked!

She tucked him into his bed and very gently wiped his teary face, then tiptoed around clearing up the rest of the mess.

After a while, Cara re-entered the room and looked surprised to see Lucy sitting and reading calmly. The nursemaid looked around, and, seeing Corin tucked in, nodded.

"His Highness cried himself out, then?" She asked Lucy softly.

"More or less," Lucy answered. "I supposed he's had a long day."

"Poor little mite. I don't know that it's really set in that his royal mother has died. How can such a little one understand such a thing?"

Lucy shrugged. "I don't know. But tomorrow, I'll try to keep Corin with me, greeting the guests for Queen Ramilka's funeral. Perhaps the novelty of all the different people will distract him from running about."

"Perhaps," Cara said, but she looked doubtful. "So I should have him dressed in good clothes, then?"

"Please," Lucy said. "I'll retrieve him mid-morning."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Cara paused, and then added in less formal tones, "Thank you for the welcome respite. I love little Prince Corin dearly, but…"

"I can see he can be a very active little boy," Lucy said, smiling a little. "No thanks are necessary."

She went off to her borrowed bed, knowing that the next day would be longer yet.

* * *

Midway through the next afternoon, Lucy was cautiously optimistic that she hadn't taken on _too_ many duties. She had impressed upon Prince Corin earlier that he _must_ behave himself if he were to see all those who were arriving, and he'd promised to behave. So far, he had. Lucy had to wonder if he were still tired out from the previous night.

She was seated on a small throne in one of Castle Anvard's audience chambers, and Prince Corin mostly sat in a cushioned chair to her left. Occasionally, someone known to him would arrive and tender their official greetings to Lucy (who thanked them for coming on behalf of King Lune, told them where to find their rooms, etc, etc.), and when these people whom he knew came, he fairly leapt out of his chair to say hello. Some of the other people who arrived—dignitaries and ambassadors, mostly—he stood and made his bow, but hung back with Lucy while she spoke.

Mostly, the day had gone uneventfully, and a short while ago, Susan had come to collect Prince Corin for a snack.

Lucy could tell that the day spent finalizing Queen Ramilka's funeral arrangements were putting a strain on her sister, and she gave Susan a sympathetic look. Susan gave her a small smile in return.

Lucy was chatting idly with the guards in the room (the arrivals had slowed down) when a palace page hurried in and looked around frantically. "Your Majesty!" he said, and hurried across to Lucy. The guards looked concerned.

"Calm down," Lucy said. "Why the hurry?"

"It's the Calormenes."

Lucy _and_ the guards all straightened at that. "What about them?"

"They're on their way here!" the boy yelped. "They were seen in one of the mountain passes."

" _What?_ " Lucy exclaimed. "Aslan preserve us... Well, it may be so that they truly are here to pay their respects. Of your kindness, go and get Lord Nen, so he can prepare apartments for these unexpected guests. From what I understand, they expect much pomp to surround them. And send a note to King Lune."

"Indeed, ma'am," one of the guards confirmed. "I'd suggest as well thou have wine and sweetmeats to offer them when they arrive; the Tarkaan is prideful, and this extends to his ambassadors and messengers."

"A good notion, friend," Lucy said, and rang for more attendants. Then she sent another to find Peter or Susan or Edmund; she had the feeling she would like some backup when dealing with the notoriously proud and prickly Calormenes. The Pevensies had heard a lot about them, but had never actually interacted with any of them.

A bit nervously, she straightened her skirts and touched up her hair. When the attendants arrived with a hastily prepared assortment of wines and tidbits, she was grateful for the distraction of overseeing the display, but too soon she was alone on the dais, guards stiffly at attention, listening to the _blat_ of what she could only assume was the Calmormene herald blowing on some sort of trumpet at the gates.

She wondered who the Tisroc had sent, that such folderol was needed; surely not one of his Viziers? Perhaps a high-ranking Tarkaan, then.

Belatedly, she remembered that the Calormenes were said to generally have a less-than-ideal view on women in positions of power, and felt a moment of real doubt that she should be the one to greet them.

She reminded herself she'd been crowned _by Aslan,_ and straightened proudly. If they had a problem with her being a Queen, they'd have to take it up with Him.

Nevertheless, she hoped that one of her siblings arrived soon.

The herald came in, with so much overweening attitude that she nearly laughed—and then she heard what he was saying, and the desire to smile fell away.

"Announcing His Royal Highness, first son of the Tisroc of the great empire of Calormen, the Crown Prince Rabadash, descended of Tash the inexorable, Tash the inevitable, Tash the mighty, come to visit Archenland in its hour of sorrows."

Oh. _Oh._ What was the heir to the Calormene throne doing here? Surely he hadn't been great friends with Queen Ramilka.

When the Prince arrived (servants sweeping the ground before him—as though there were a single speck of dust on the floor!) he was about what Lucy had been led to expect. His robes were richly colored (almost garish) and swept the floor; his turban was exquisitely decorated with flamboyantly-dyed feathers; his hands and neck glittered with heavy yellow-gold jewelry.

The thing that surprised her most about him was his age. He seemed much younger that she'd have thought; about Peter's age, she supposed. And his face was handsome enough, with strong features and a hawk-like nose, and intensely dark eyes, rendered more exotic with kohl-powder. She noticed his eyes particularly, as he didn't _quite_ hide the surprised look when she introduced herself.

She greeted him on behalf of King Lune, adding whatever flourishes she could think of, and then added: "But we did not expect you in person, Your Highness. There was no word sent ahead."

"And is Narnia the only land whose royalty may come to offer succor to its neighbors?" Rabadash countered. "Surely, the moment the sad news reached us, was I moved to attend Queen Ramilka's services; and no messenger could have arrived here sooner than I."

Well, Lucy knew _that_ wasn't true; any single messenger would surely have got here sooner than the thirty or so people Rabadash had brought with him, but certainly she couldn't say so.

So she smiled and said, "Certainly, it is right and correct that your heart shouldst have been moved so sympathetically. Now, kindly avail thyself of these refreshments after your journey, while arrangements are made for thy stay."

Fortunately, this seemed to be acceptable, for the Prince nodded as though her response was what he expected.

Well. Maybe he _was_ distraught at Queen Ramilka's passing; _she_ certainly couldn't read his heart.

After a bit, an attendant came to inform them that apartments had been readied for Rabadash and his entourage, and the whole party left, leaving Lucy to slump back into the throne.

"Whew," she said to one of the guardsmen, who looked sympathetic. "Well, _that_ was unexpected."

"You did well, Lucy!" Edmund said, practically in her ear, and she jumped and twisted around to see her brother leaning on the throne's back.

"Ed!" she hissed at him. "How long hast thou been standing there? Why didn't thou offer me help?"

"You had things well in hand," he said, sounding surprised. "I arrived when Prince Rabadash was spinning his tale of woe, but hung back to get the lay of the land. You gave him just the answer he wanted to hear."

"Dost thou think he really _is_ just here to pay his respects?"

Edmund snorted. "Not for a moment. My thought is, the Tisroc would like to hold both sides of the mountain passes on his northern border, and is sniffing around to see whether Anvard is vulnerable just now. And he knows King Lune couldn't refuse entry to his wife's funeral to the Crown Prince."

"He wasn't expecting to see _me_ , that's for certain," Lucy replied.

"Yes, his comment about Narnia not being Archenland's only neighbor hints that he guesses all four of us are here," Edmund agreed. "He is sharp, I'll give him that."

"From what I hear, if you're not sharp in Calormen, you're quickly out of power—or dead," Lucy replied.

"True. Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on him these next couple of days, I suppose," Edmund said. "Anyway, I've come to collect thee for evening meal. The attendants will send to us if other visitors arrive, but it sounds like nearly everyone's here."

"Yes," Lucy agreed, looking over her lists. "There are one or two members of the nobility who ought to arrive today, but they have long journeys."

"Good! Then come away, you've had a long day already."

* * *

Dinner was a lovely time, just the four of them. Lucy found it refreshing to mind and body, and left to collect Prince Corin from his own meal, realizing she'd rather left Susan in charge of him for a large portion of the day. She couldn't be unhappy he hadn't been present for the Calormenes' arrogant arrival, though.

When she arrived at the nursery, she found Cara looking a little chagrined. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but that boy was tearing around all through his dinner hour, and now he's gone running off somewhere."

"Hast no idea where he might go?"

"Some days, he runs to the gardens; others, the armory; others, the solarium. But I didn't see which way he ran!"

"No fear," Lucy said. "I'll track him down."

She went down to the gardens and poked around a while, but none of the people strolling the paths had seen the boy. She went by the stables, but they were empty, save for the dumb beasts of the funeral attendees.

She knew quite well that if Corin had gone to the armory or the practice grounds, Peter or Orieus would have found him in a wink, and returned him to his nursery forthwith.

But the solarium… Lucy remembered Queen Ramilka had loved to spend time in its airy, light-filled space, and perhaps her little son had gone there.

When she pushed the door of the room open, the silence lay heavy for a moment, dust motes dancing slowly through the sunbeams.

Softly, Lucy stepped through the room, peeking under worktables and stepping around embroidery screens, until she saw a little shoe poking out from behind a curtain.

She pulled the curtain back to see Prince Corin glaring up at her.

"No! I don't _want_ to." He said, and flew at her, his little fists pummeling her legs.

She knocked his hands aside. "Shame, Prince Corin! Ist any way to treat a lady?"

"I don't care!" he declared, and ran at her again.

This time, she was readier, and when he got close, she caught the little boy in a tight hold that didn't allow him more than kicking his little legs—which he did.

She was grateful for the full skirts she was wearing, which deflected most of his kicks. Nevertheless, he was so energetic he made her step back a few paces, until she was able to sweep him off his feet. They both landed on the floor, and one of the embroidery screens went over with a crash, but Lucy hung on to his wriggling, howling body.

"Don't want to, don't want to," he shouted.

"Corin! Hush," Lucy said, "Hush," and kept her grip on him until he suddenly sighed, and went limp and quiet. "What is it?" she asked gently, stroking his hair. "What is it thou does not wish to do?"

The little boy began to sob. "I don't wanna have a bath. I don't wanna get dressed up. I don't—don't wanna have Ma—Mama's funeral." He gasped out, and burst into tears, burying his face in Lucy's skirts.

She hugged him and made soothing sounds, waiting for him to quieten.

He was still crying when the door opened to reveal a worried-faced Susan and Cara peering in.

"Thou'rt wanted, Lucy, but we heard a crash," Susan said. "Is the little prince all right?"

"Missing his mother," Lucy sighed, knowing Prince Corin wasn't listening at all. "No wonder."

"It's His Highness' bedtime, then," Cara said firmly, and went to pick up Corin. He yowled and gripped Lucy's skirts harder.

Susan and Lucy exchanged glances. "Thou'rt wanted, truly, Lucy," Susan repeated. "The last arrivals have been seen on the road."

Dismayed, Lucy glanced down at the little boy, who had fists of skirt fabric held tight.

"Corin?" she said softly. "Corin, art thou listening?"

"Don't wanna." He sobbed out.

"Corin, I have to go, for just a little bit. But then I'll come back."

"Won't."

"I will, I promise. But in the meantime, can you stay with Susan? She's longing to spend some time with thee."

His teary face emerged. "No, she's not. Cara said she's an important lady and doesn't need to be bothered."

"That was just for today while I was busy, Corin," Susan said, and he gave her a doubtful look. She spread her hands. "See? I'm here to see _thee_ , Corin. I feel sad over your mother, too."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Oh, come here, Corin," Susan said, and drew him to her shoulder. He flung his arms around her neck and started bawling again. Slowly she stood, rubbing soothing circles on his back, and nodded to Lucy to get going. "We'll be in the nursery," she mouthed.

Lucy nodded her thanks back. When she stood, most of the crinkles in her gown fell straight; well, she'd just have to hope no one noticed the tear-damp patches.

When the last of the arrivals had been duly greeted, she had to sigh a little as she headed back toward the nursery. Though she was bone-tired, she'd promised to return, after all.

But when she peeked in, an under-nurserymaid was sitting by the fire, and Prince Corin was sprawled, exhausted, on his bed. He still wore the day's clothes; only his shoes had been removed, and a blanket thrown over him.

"Queen Susan stayed and stayed until the Prince cried himself to sleep," the maid said. "We couldn't wake him enough to get him changed."

"Morning will be soon enough," Lucy agreed, and went to her own bed. Morning _would_ be soon enough—and the funeral was tomorrow. How she would keep Prince Corin from howling through _that,_ she had little notion.

Hopefully an idea would come to her in the night.

And just what _was_ Rabadash up to, coming here?

* * *

Hope you liked it! Review, please!


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